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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485204">Before The Devil Knows You're Dead</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antipode/pseuds/Antipode'>Antipode</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I Was Lost Without You [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mass Effect Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action, Action &amp; Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Bigotry &amp; Prejudice, Biotic Shepard (Mass Effect), Canon Lesbian Relationship, Children, Custom Shepard (Mass Effect), Drama &amp; Romance, F/F, Family Drama, Family Feels, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Lesbians in Space, Mass Effect 1, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3, Mass Effect 3: Citadel, Mild Smut, POV Shepard (Mass Effect), Paragon Shepard (Mass Effect), Parenthood, Post-Mass Effect 3, Pre-Mass Effect 1, Romance, Science Fiction, Shepard (Mass Effect) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Spacer (Mass Effect), War Hero (Mass Effect), little blue babies, shiara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:54:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>80,329</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antipode/pseuds/Antipode</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been 11 years since the Crucible was fired in the final moments of that most desperate of battles above a burning Earth. A 'phased-spectrum tightbeam dark-matter pulse,' was the official description; a mass-relay-driven energy burst that destroyed the Reaper control signal and the Sovereign-class Reapers that were broadcasting it, leaving the smaller platforms and husks leaderless and directionless. It won them the day, and eventually, allowed them to drive the Reapers to the brink of defeat. Now the threat is all but extinguished, save for isolated pockets of husks and Destroyers. The mass relays have been destroyed, many beyond repair. The Citadel hangs above Earth. The Sol system has become a new galactic hub, the staging ground for a Federated Galactic Republic that seeks to unify the galaxy under one flag. Sybilla Shepard, former Earth Systems Alliance Navy Commander, biotic commando, and first human Spectre, leads a team through clusters and systems cut off and thought lost to the Reapers a decade ago, searching for signs of life.<br/>She knows the Normandy is out there, somewhere, and that her crew - that Liara - is alive.<br/>But so is Harbinger.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Shepard/Liara T'Soni</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I Was Lost Without You [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: The Beach</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When she woke up, she was on the beach again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her back was resting on warm, white sand, with cool waves splashing gently against her legs. Her legs didn’t seem to work. Neither did her arms. It was difficult to </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> them to work. She was so tired, and didn’t know why. All she wanted to do was rest. It seemed like it had been years since she’d just… sat down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air was crisp, and clean, and a light breeze riffed at her hair. The sun - suns? - overhead furrowed her brow from the glare. Six of them, hanging in the perfect sky in a strange, particular, almost arachnid pattern. She’d seen it, somewhere, but the thought danced away from her, eluded her. Around her, the wind wove through arched, elegant palms scattered at odd intervals, surrounded by swaying grasses. A few wisps of clouds drifted aimlessly across an impossibly blue sky. Blue like</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>her eyes, the same color of a child’s memory of the summer sky. Blue like the Earth from high orbit, blue like the deepest, gentlest ocean. I could get lost in those depths forever. She’s an irssal blossom plucked from the banks of some Armali river basin; wild honey and pomegranate. Her skin looks like it should be rough, pebbly, but it’s so soft; soft like her breath on my neck, soft like her lips on mine. Our fingers intertwine. She’s so close to me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was warm, but not too warm, and the waves were refreshing, but not too cold. The glare should have seared her eyes, crisped her skin. The sand should have been gritty and unpleasant. The salt water should have stung at her wounds. But they didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her wounds. She lifted her head, with some struggle, and looked down at her battered, broken body. It was a mess of red and black; she couldn’t see where the twisted, half-melted and gore-streaked remnants of her armor ended, and where her shredded, scorched, and blood-soaked skin began. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell happened to me?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her mind was a fog, and she stumbled through as helplessly as her body lay sprawled in the sand. There had been a fight, a battle - but wasn’t there always? They seemed to just… bleed into each other, her memory a haze of smoke and adrenaline and desperation. She struggled to rise, crying out in agony as her fingers gripped the</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>cracked pavement, a cityscape on fire. Sinister shapes, impossibly large, stalk between burning skyscrapers. Screaming, gunfire. A deep-throated trumpeting cry like a great, terrible horn, like a death knell for the universe. I’m knocked down, on my back, and the shapes are coming for me, all around me, but there is a woman. A woman with a rifle, in red and black armor, standing in the middle of the street, firing into the darkness until the darkness receeds. She reaches down and pulls me up, and I see N7 boldly emblazoned on the woman’s breastplate. A challenge to the darkness, a light in the shadow. A blood-soaked angel, come to carry me home. Green eyes and a crooked nose, honey-colored skin and a mess of freckles. A brassy, confident voice. “What’s the matter, marine - you trying to live forever?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No ma’am,” I stammer, in a voice that isn’t mine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That isn’t right. Was that… me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to force herself to get up again, and after a herculean effort, pushed herself to a sitting position. Her lungs burned battery acid, her veins were on fire, and she couldn’t stop coughing up blood… but she was closer to being on her feet. As she struggled to catch her breath, she glanced around at her seemingly idyllic surroundings, trying to figure out where she was, and how she’d gotten there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The beach stretched on forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It went on and on and on, in every direction save the ocean. It looked like there were dunes, here and there, maybe a few clusters of palm trees and tall grasses, but that’s all there was, and it was flat enough that she could see for miles. Her eyesight had always been good, and after… after what? It was like whatever was sapping at her limbs was sapping at her memory, too. Something had happened, but They had fixed her. What had happened? Why was this all so familiar? Why did she need to be fixed? The suns’ position in the sky had changed, but they maintained that strange, vaguely sinister pattern, Stared down at her, like</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>rolling balls of flame in zero-gravity. The deck shudders, buckles beneath my feet. A jagged hole in the skin of the silver dart, vapor and flames trailing outward like a tail. A chair drifts past. Out in the starry black, there is a shimmering blue globe, so close I could reach out and touch it. The hulking ship’s silhouette is a cancerous growth, a bruise in the night sky. There is a terrible yellow light, and a lance of molten fire streaks across the black. The deck disintegrates beneath my feet, and I am pulled into the void.  I slam a fist into the glowing wall-panel. A soft, bearded face stares at me in horror; he tries to pull himself out of the flight couch I threw him into, tries to pull me in to safety but it is too late. The airlock slams shut with a hiss and the escape pod shoots out into the night. Distantly, someone calls my name. Then there’s only my own breathing, fading out. I am alone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Problematic timing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned with a start. There was a figure - slender, diminutive, scarred, with loose, warty skin - standing over her. Curious brown eyes blinked sideways at her, frog-like. A lipless mouth, pulled back into a facsimile of a smile. The sun painted a strange, aura-like haze about the white of his lab coat. She noted pockets stuffed incongruously with seashells. It tickled a memory from what seemed like a lifetime ago. Maybe longer than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... M… Mordin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Observant. See eyesight still excellent.” The salarian reached down, offering a hand. She reached up to grab it, and found it cold and surprisingly strong. Metal plating and micro-augmetics squeezed her not ungently, pulled her up. Held her while she steadied herself on unsteady legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mordin, where the hell are we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No time to explain.” Cryptic, as usual. “Time almost up. Have to get you moving. Time to go back.” A chill washed over her. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see the palms swaying, the tall grass rustling. She didn’t remember there being this much wind, before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go back..? But I just got here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Incorrect.” Mordin shook his head, repeating “time almost up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What time? What are you talking about?” she snapped in frustration. Another chill ran through her, and she couldn’t suppress the involuntary shudder this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twenty-eight minutes,” Mordin explained patiently. A cloud passed over his face, darkening the both of them for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She squeezed her head in her hands, feeling the coming migraine building. “I don’t know what that means.” Reached out to steady herself, but it was like trying to catch smoke in a net. She searched the salarian’s face for answers, looking into his</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>flinty grey-blue eyes, sharp as diamonds. As large and as deep as peering downscope. The big turian puts a hand on my shoulder and I squeeze it, trying to reassure him, or myself, I don’t know anymore. There’s so much left unsaid, here at the end of everything, but neither of us can find the right words. How do you put into words the fights won, the friends lost? The bond forged in the crucible of one desperate, galaxy-ending crisis after another? How do you express the depth of gratitude for someone who has been at your side through hell and back twice now, while you gear up for a third? The turian always has a lopsided smile, a dry retort. He always knows what to say. His flanged, two-toned voice is a soft rumble. “May you be in heaven half an hour…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“... before the devil knows you’re dead…” she mouthed, ashen. She was very cold.</span>
</p><p><span>The salarian nodded.</span> <span>“Time to go,” he said again, not unkindly. Around them, the sky had changed from a cloudless blue to the swirling green that promised rain, promised storms. Already the once-gentle waves had begun to foam and splash. Palm trees swayed like asari dancers in the rising wind.</span></p><p><span>“But I don’t know how I got here!” she pleaded. Mordin’s shadow fell over her. Was he always this tall? “How am I supposed to-”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Time’s up, Shepard,” the salarian said. All six of his eyes suddenly flashed with a terrible, sickly light. He shoved her, and she stumbled, fell. Scrabbled on all fours in the cold surf. The salt stung at her eyes, her lips. Sand burned at her exposed wounds. The wind chilled her to her very soul. The shadowed face in the sky that glared balefully down upon her wasn’t Mordin’s, not anymore. A mountain walked or stumbled above her, a nightmarish cuttlefish shape of sleek black metal and blinking lights that glittered like cold, dead stars. A palpable </span><em><span>hate</span></em><span> crushed in all around her, a callous distain and disregard for all life. The tentacles, the claws, reached out like a grasping hand, to seize the galaxy within that crushing grasp, to tear them all to shreds. Blood and sweat poured out of her as she fumbled for a rifle that wasn’t there, her fingers</span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>finding purchase in cracked pavement as I </span>
  </em>
  <span>will</span>
  <em>
    <span> my body out of the way of the burning Mako. It goes end over end before detonating with a tooth-loosening impact that cuts some of the frantic howls in my comms-channel mercifully quiet. I force myself to a knee, looking for a rifle, looking for survivors. Cannibals, and husks, and those big turian bastards are pouring out of broken buildings and exposed sewer networks like we’ve disturbed a hive of angry ants. There’s so few of us left. It’s too much.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Garrus waves me over from behind the destroyed Mako, his eyes wide. He’s covered in blood, but it isn’t his, turian blood is blue, and in his arms is-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I run over, oblivious to the searing red beams of anti-matter scything through flesh and steel around me, oblivious to the gunfire and the screams. All I can see is her; armor seared black, face bloodied, eyes closed. My heart stops, and all I can hear is my own breathing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s bad, Shepard.” Garrus’ voice is pained. I can see the strain in his eyes, see the damage to his own armor. He’s lost his rifle, too. A gunship weaves overhead, strafing the ruins, pushing the husks back. Harbinger cuts it out of the air with a contemptuous swat, raining shrapnel and debris on us.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Joker, I need an evac, NOW! Get the wounded out of here!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We’re taking heavy losses up here, Commander. I don’t know how much more we can tak-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“NOW, Lieutenant!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A pause. “On my way, Commander.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She opens her eyes, and the tightness in my chest recedes, a little. Her eyes are full of pain, confusion. I try to wipe away some of the blood but I’m covered in it, too. “We’re getting you out of here.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Garrus has found another rifle. He’s above us, snapping off shots like he’s on a firing range. Cool, calm, efficient. One shot, one kill. Our whole lives have come down to this. I love him for it. I gather Liara up as gently as I can. I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline or the biotics but she feels as light as a feather. She groans softly and grabs my collar, squeezing. My heart feels like it’s going to explode.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A shadow falls over us. The Normandy, landing bay already open and a fresh squad of marines leaping out. What’s left of Hammer rushes past us, into the fire, into the night. It’s a killing floor - Harbinger is too big, too powerful, and we’re too few. The husks and cannibals are getting closer. The beam is just a couple hundred feet away. But it’s too far. It’s too much.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I feel a chill wash over me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>We aren’t getting another shot at this.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Take her.” Garrus opens his mouth to protest, but the look on my face quiets him. He knows what I’m about to do. He can’t meet my eyes while he steadies Liara. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I would have followed you to the end, Shepard,” he says quietly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t meet his eyes, either. “I know.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Liara stirs. “I’m- I’m alright,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “I can-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t argue with me.” It’s like hearing myself from a million miles away.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Realization snaps her eyes open. So bright, so blue. Like Earth from high orbit. Like home. “You’re not leaving me behind! Not again.” She struggles weakly against Garrus’ grasp. “You promised. You </span>
  </em>
  <span>promised</span>
  <em>
    <span>!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Whatever happens…” I stumble over my words. They won’t come. I reach out, caress her cheek. “Whatever happens… you’re my whole world. I love you, Little Wing.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Those blue, blue eyes look back at me. There’s hurt in them, and anger, but also gentleness, and understanding. And love. So much love. I wish this moment could last. It can’t. I would give everything, anything, for one more hour. One more minute. But there’s nothing left.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sybilla, I…” She’s afraid, and in so much pain, but she’s strong. God, she’s strong. I am terrified. “I love you, Sybilla. I am yours.” She reaches for me, but I’m already turning. I can’t bear to look anymore. I’m already running. I’m out of time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The husks are closing in. There must be thousands of them, boiling out of the ruins. There can’t be more than a dozen of us left. All the air support is down. All the armor is down. Those hateful red beams cut through us. It’s like a cruel child with a magnifying glass, burning ants alive. It whispers to me in an alien language. What I can understand sounds like promises, like threats. It’s too much.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you, Sybilla. I am yours.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ahead of me, a marine goes down, two husks pulling at his legs. I hit them with a biotic field strong enough to peel a tank apart, blow a third one apart with my pistol before it can leap on another vulnerable soldier. Those harsh yellow arachnid eyes above burn into me. The whispering voices have turned into shouts, into screams. The red beam turns the soldier I’d just saved into a puff of black smoke. I scream back and punch two more husks off their feet. The other marine is down again. I reach to help him up and he just falls into pieces. They’ve pulled him apart like he was made out of clay. The heat sink on my pistol is flashing. Blood pours out of my nose and ears and eyes. I can feel my amp overloading, digging metal fingers into my brain. I am alone. It’s too much. It’s too much. It’s too much.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you, Sybilla. I am yours.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A lance of liquid fire burns a chasm through the street in front of me. The impact to the air flings me backwards, punching the wind out of my lungs. My legs don’t work. I can’t feel my back. My head feels like it’s submerged in a puddle of ice. All I can feel is the pistol in my hand.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The eyes carve a hole into me from above. It’s as if Harbinger is right over me. Harbinger </span>
  </em>
  <span>is</span>
  <em>
    <span> right over me. In the corner of my eye I see a flash of blue. A single ship, limping out into the night sky. One solitary bright star. One pair of little blue wings, flapping to safety.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you, Sybilla. I am yours.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Red light boils above me, coalescing into a singular, killing force. I can see the arrogance in those burning yellow orbs. It knows it’s won. It exults in it, revels in it. Savors it. The whisper/screams are like needles into my mind. A tenebrous voice thunders in my ears. “SHEPARD, YOU ARE BEATEN. SUBMIT, NOW.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The boiling red light gathers in a focused point. An arrow, to pierce the heart. To kill hope.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A smile comes unbidden. “I’ll see you in hell, you bug-eyed metal bastard,” I hiss defiantly through cracked and bloodied lips. I force my arm up, aim my pistol at that coruscating sun of killing light.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I fix Liara’s face in my mind, and I squeeze the trigger, and I scream and let the red light tear me apart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There is a terrible, all-consuming silence.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There is a terrible, all-consuming roar.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There is a terrible, all-consuming silence.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you, Sybilla. I am yours.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Time’s up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shepard awoke with a scream, panting, eyes wild in the dark. Her lungs burned with smoke. Her veins were filled with liquid fire. Blood thundered in her ears, dripped from her nose. She could taste dirt and mud and death, could smell the cordite and decay of the street, of the city on fire. Yellow orbs of hate glared balefully at her in the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. No smoke and blood; just sweat, sweat from her sweat-drenched sheets. No cordite and ash; just scorched metal, starship fuel. No Harbinger’s eyes burning down at her from the sky; just a blinking data-pad in a dark cabin. Something cool and metallic swung between her breasts. A pair of old dog tags, twisted and worn, but familiar. Grounding. She gripped them in both hands, felt the cold metal press a familiar pattern into her palm as she closed her eyes and murmured a calming chant, an asari meditation ritual loosely translated as ‘Observance.’ In time, her heart rate slowed, and her breathing eased. Her biotic amp was still flaring as if she’d been through another Skyllian Blitz, but the predictable L2 migraine wouldn’t come until later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a long, long while, she felt - not better, but… centered. Calmer. In control, again. She let go of her tags, admired the ‘N7’ branded into her palm for a moment with a rueful grin and a shake of her head while she took stock of her surroundings. Soaked, rumpled sheets against her clammy skin. The ever-present hum of machinery. The constant chill of the void. A tiny porthole, a thin skin between her and the night sky, across which an endless parade of stars streamed past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Moreh,” she exhaled. “Shit. I’m still on the Moreh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The deck clanged beneath her feet as she swung herself off the bed and rose. She couldn’t hear any signs of activity outside her cabin; meaning she was the first one up. As usual. Sleep didn’t come easy to her anymore, and rest was a distant memory. She fumbled about in the dark for a moment until her hand came to the cracked casing of her personal data-pad. It hummed and flickered to life at her touch, and, as it did every morning, the picture it flashed as it opened punched her in the gut. Like every morning, she spent a few minutes standing in silence, staring at the picture, illuminated only by the soft yellow light of the pad and the litany of stars trailing past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a picture of two lovers, arms wrapped about each other, as they stood in the dappled sunlight of a garden terrace on the Citadel’s Presidium. One, a human; tall, muscled, dark hair pulled back into a high bun. She looked out-of-place in civilian clothes, a green dress that complimented her honeyed skin, matched the green eyes that looked down at her partner like there was nobody else in the universe. Her partner; asari, shorter, softer, her curves elegant and accentuated in a yellow, traditional gown. She was glancing upward, looking into her lover’s face with the deepest, bluest eyes, eyes so deep you could drown in them. Shepard traced a finger across the asari’s face. A photo from a million years ago. A photo from another lifetime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Good morning, Agent Shepard,** the pad’s VI, a pleasant metallic voice, chimed. **It is 4:05 AM, Earth Pacific Standard Time. It is March Seventeenth, 2198.**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many days?” she asked, like she did every morning. She already knew, had committed the long count to memory long ago, but routine was all she had left. Routine kept her sharp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Today marks day four thousand seventeen, Agent Shepard.**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Four thousand seventeen,” she whispered. She glanced back at the porthole, watched as the Moreh drifted into yet another distant nebula, searching for distress signals, crash sites, signs of life. Signs of </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Liara, where are you?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Whatever Happens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The colony was as quiet as a grave.</p><p>The new recruits were raw, but they were good - out of the shuttle as soon as the bay doors opened, finding cover amongst scattered debris and abandoned crates of spoiled supplies. They moved without much precision, but with a sense of urgency born out of fear and desperation. The Reaper War had turned even civilians into veterans. Experience was always the harshest tutor. Cold rain thundered down on them, splashing mud and particulate on their boots and greaves. It was dark, but she hadn’t given the order to break out lights yet, and so they strained their eyes in the gloom, waiting. She let them wait. "Tighten up those firing lines," she growled, instead. "Check those corners."</p><p>**Echo Leader, this is Echo One,** Leel’Xaanis, their quarian shuttle pilot, had a thick accent that buzzed awkwardly in her ears. **Initiating liftoff and beginning my patrol route.**</p><p>**Acknowledged, Echo One. Stay in touch.**</p><p>**Happy hunting.** The quarian gave her a two-fingered wave through the blast shield as the Kodiak ascended. A flash of blue, into the night sky. It reminded her of…</p><p>She shook off the bad memory, staving away the descent that always accompanied it, that downward spiral into the empty abyss of black. There was no time for it now; she knew those feelings would be waiting for her when they got back to the ship. They always were.</p><p>“Doll. Plunkett. Door. Sandekan, Yija, T’Nere, Vokrax, flank right. Laedros, Dexicus, left on me. Stay sharp. And hold fire until targets are confirmed: there might still be civilians here.” She flashed a series of hand signals, counting down from three. And then she was moving, in full sprint across what was left of a crosswalk. The main colony hub was about a hundred feet away. It was a straight shot, prefabs to the left and right of them, and it was very, very exposed. An icy hand gripped her heart as images of cuttlefish profiles with yellow eyes flashed across her mind. She brushed them aside, slamming her back against an overturned skycar and snapping her rifle up to cover the door.</p><p>The door. A meter-thick blast-shielded barrier that had turned the hub into a bunker during the Reaper attack. It was still sealed shut, and naught but ghosts roamed the empty streets of the colony itself. There were no concrete signs of what had happened to the colonists, but Shepard could guess. </p><p>The rest of her squad moved into positions behind her, only breathing slightly hard. Will Plunkett and Omari Doll, a pair of human engineers from the Traverse, set about getting the door open, omni-tools blinking and whirring. Plunkett was nervous, jittery, and didn’t look a day past sixteen, though his file said the sprightly, slight redhead was in his twenties. He’d survived a Collector attack, then spent a week living in a drainpipe as Reaper forces scoured his home clean. Doll was a spacer like her, ex-Alliance. Technically retired, but the Federated Galactic Republic needed everyone they could get. She liked the bullish old mechanic.</p><p>On their heels, Irakon Sandekan, Faernan Yija, Saith T’Nere, and Vokrax took up positions in a bombed-out diner, rifles jutting out from windows and doors as they flanked the door and took up positions to cover the surrounding buildings. Sandekan was a quiet, introspective batarian, the only one of his kind she’d met in a long time. There were precious few left after the Hegemony collapsed, and those that had survived were often like Sandekan - finding solace in religion, solemnly mourning their steadily dying race. Shepard had read the reports of declining birth rates, rising suicides, of a people losing the will to carry on. She couldn’t help but think about Aratoht every time she looked into his sorrowful brown eyes.</p><p>Yija, by contrast, would never stop talking about how excited he was for the future. How proud he was of the work they were doing for the Federated Republic. How his breeding stock had gone through the roof merely for surviving, despite his ‘humble origins’ as the eldest son of a commercial stock trader. How his wife was already expecting a clutch, back in Citadel space. His omni-tool was full of pictures of the two of them, and he and the old krogan ex-mercenary, Vokrax, were constantly in a good-natured argument over who would sire more children. Vokrax boasted of a sizeable head start back on Tuchanka, of sons wrestling varren in the red dust. His eyes tended to get misty at the thought. Whenever he looked at Shepard, it was with an almost religious reverence. “We will sing songs of the Shepard until there are no more krogan left to sing,” he said, often, eyes misting up again.</p><p>Saith T’Nere was the veteran presence of the squad, aside from Shepard. Ex-Eclipse, ex-huntress, and had been in the fight since the very beginning of the Reaper invasion, helping with the Alliance evacs of colonies in the Traverse. Like most asari purebloods, she held the ‘aliens’ in contempt - but she was tough, and she was quick, and could handle herself. Initially, Shepard had thought she and the purple-skinned asari would butt heads, a pair of type-A war-dogs grown accustomed to issuing orders. That was until it had somehow come up that Shepard had spent three years in her youth, embedded with an asari huntress unit on Thessia. T’Nere had demanded to know with whom Shepard had served, and she’d obliged, showing her the Serrice Guard tattoo she’d gotten on her bicep after her two tours. After a quiet moment, T’Nere had nodded respectfully, and said only “Till Death, We Stand,” - the unit’s motto. The Serrice Guard had been killed down to the last asari when the Reapers had taken Thessia. Shepard had had no more problems from T’Nere.</p><p>Flanking Shepard on either side of the downed skycar were a pair of turians, Cambia Laedros and Flavian Dexicus. Between the two of them, they had the least experience and the most arrogance, and Shepard had taken to keeping the two of them as close to her as possible, to keep them from getting themselves - or anyone else - killed. Cambia had been a barista on the Citadel, had never held a gun until the Cerberus attack, and had somehow escaped the charnel-house that the station had become during the Reaper’s final hours invading Earth. Flavian had been a farmer, and the only thing he’d ever fired at were gas-bags and wild animals. Both of them were a product of the great patriotic campaigns the newly-organized turian hierarchy had launched in the face of the rebuild, to find warm bodies to fill the Fleet.</p><p>"Almost there, ma'am," Doll muttered, snapping her back to the present. "This old cow just needs a little more coaxing- there!" There was a snap, and a spark, and the blast shielding fell away from the door, revealing bold blue lettering ten feet tall. HADLEY'S HOPE. An Alliance insignia was displayed above what sounded like a tourism board slogan, proudly advertising the colony as 'the jewel of Clobaka!' </p><p>"Jewel, my ass," Plunkett grumbled. "This place looks like shit. No way anyone had enough supplies to tough it out this long here, ma'am. We should-"</p><p>"We should keep the comm-chatter to a minimum and focus on the objective," T'Nere's voice was flat and dripping with condescension.</p><p>"Something was here," Doll offered. "The Fleet picked up a signal from here, after all."</p><p>"Yeah, <em> quarian </em> scanners picked up something." Laedros rolled her eyes. "Probably built out of a last-gen onni-tool and some backwater moisture-farmer’s tractor. Why we allow those suit-rats in the glorious Federated Republic…"</p><p>"Still your forked tongue, turian," Vokrax was a gruff, gravelly rumble, rolling over Laedros. "The boy's right, though, ma'am. Eleven years? There's nothing here. There's no honor in picking over a graveyard. Leave these ghosts to rest with their ancestors."</p><p>"If I wanted the opinion of a krogan," T'Nere began acidly-</p><p>"Quash it." Shepard's voice was iron. "We have our orders. Doll, get that inner door open. Everyone else, eyes open and mouths shut."</p><p>"Yes ma'am," came several contrite replies.</p><p>"Doors opening," Doll warned. "Eyes up." A klaxxon sounded, floodlights snapping on to throw the intersection in stark blacks and greys. Thunder crashed overhead. The ground trembled beneath their feet. There was a grating, metallic groan, a rattling of counterweights, and the hiss of venting hydraulics, and the shutter doors slowly, gradually, began to slide open. The darkness behind was palpable, swirling, consuming. It stank like burnt metal and decay.</p><p>“Plunkett. Read anything?” Shepard hissed.</p><p>A tense silence. A held breath. “No ma’am. There’s nothing. Nothing on the… wait. Wait, I’ve got movement. Three levels down, there’s a blip.” His voice shook. “Something’s alive down there.”</p><p>“Then we go in. Lights on.” The flashlight lugs on their rifles lit up as one, stab-lights piercing the dark. “I’m on point. Laedros, Dexicus, Doll, on me. T’Nere, take Plunkett, Yija, Vokrax, and Sandekan. Watch our six. Stay tight. Nobody breaks visual contact, understand?” The response was sharp, but she could hear the fear in their voices. She hoped they couldn’t hear the fear in hers.</p><p>They filed into the colony hub like a pack of wraiths, their footfalls muffled and their breathing held. Stab-lights scanned corners, swept ducts, scanned cross-hallways and gantries. It had taken her weeks and weeks but she’d drilled them well, trained them to think and move as a single entity, a unified force. They were raw and untested, but the instincts were developing, A twinge of pride tugged at her heart, welling up a brief flicker of warmth before the dark places in her mind dragged her to her last squad, her last crew. Comm-static buzzed in her ear, fading in with the rain. Her heart beat like a kettle drum.</p><p>
  <em> “... already here, and its bleeding geth all over the bomb site!” Ashley’s voice is calm, but there is a strident note buried underneath. Small arms fire echoes through the com-channel, the strange metallic chittering of the geth, the battle-roars of cloned krogan. The clipped screams of dying marines and salarians. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “There’s too many, I don’t think we can hold them off!” More shots. More screams. “I’m activating the bomb.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Chief, what are you doing?” I choke.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “My god-damned job, ma’am.” Her voice breaks. “It’s been an honor, Commander. Give ‘em hell for me, okay? Williams, out.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Ash.” I’m moving, snatching a rifle from the hands of one of Kaidan’s team. “Ash, don’t you dare hang up on me. Ash. ASH!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Liara tries to put a soothing hand out but I shoulder her aside. Two more marines move to stand in my way. It happens quicker than thought. Tendrils of biotic power swirl around me. The sound that comes out of me feels like it’s coming from a thousand miles away. “Move. Now.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Billie.” A soft voice.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “NOW!” I howl. The storm rages around me. All I can hear is the dwindling sounds of gunfire over the com. I need to get to Ashley. </em>
</p><p><em> “Billie.” The voice again. It’s Kaidan. There’s blood on his face, agony in his eyes. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Billie, we have to go.” </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> “We can’t leave her!” My grip on the tsunami of energy around me falters, flickers. There’s fear in the squad’s eyes. Relief. Sorrow. Tears sting my own. “I can’t leave her,” I whisper, voice hoarse. </em></p><p>
  <em> The way he looks at me breaks my heart into a million little fragments. “You can’t save her,” he says softly. </em>
</p><p>“... ma’am?”</p><p>Heavy breathing. A cold, cramped corridor. Steel walls all around. A helmet. A rifle. A squad, in cover. Heart like a jackhammer. Needles in her brain, her biotic amp tweaking at the memory alone. A mounting migraine. A trickle of blood, down her nostril. Shepard mouthed the words of Observance, tried to ground herself. Her eyes fought to find focus in the gloom.</p><p>T’Nere crouched down beside her. The huntress rapped twice, gently, on Shepard’s helmet. Her grey eyes searched the Spectre’s. “Your comm went quiet for a moment, ma’am,” she said slowly. “Your orders?” She peered at her through the gloom. <em> You okay? </em> she mouthed.</p><p>Shepard nodded tightly. “Yeah. Just… yeah.” She exhaled. “Check… check those corners. Watch your crossfire. There’s a lot of places to hide down here.” She nodded again. The asari still looked concerned, but reassured. Shepard tapped her on the shoulder as she rose. “Laedros. Dexicus. Doll. On me. We’re moving.” She willed herself to her feet, ignoring the weight of armor and rifle and a heavy heart. Her squad flowed behind her, eight loyal shadows. They moved.</p><p>Once, this colony hub had housed several hundred people: living quarters, shops, storage, a school, a park. Everywhere there was the abandoned detritus of a lost people. Here, cobweb-covered coffee cups on a table atop a terrace. There, an empty stroller in a promenade, stuffed animal discarded beside it. The recycled air was stale and cold, filters having not been replaced for over a decade. Mass-reactive generators, powered by geothermal taps, churned on eternally, filling the empty silence with a starship-like hum that quickly faded into the background. </p><p>“... no signs of a struggle,” Doll was murmuring softly as they swept the hub. “No small arms fire. No barricades. No bodies. Just… empty. I’ve never seen anything like it.”</p><p>“I have,” Shepard said quietly. “Stay sharp.”</p><p>A guttural croak froze them all in their tracks.</p><p>“On me,” she hissed, fist upraised. “On me. Get to cover. Lights out.” Quick eyes scanned their surroundings. An atrium, two levels. Must have been a commercial promenade at one point. Too many windows. They were too exposed. “Back up. Vokrax, Sandekan, clear that six-”<br/>“By the spirits,” Dexicus whispered hoarsely.</p><p>Blue eyes glittered in the dark. One pair, then two, a dozen, a hundred. Like cold stars staring down in judgement. Slithering out from every air duct, out of every tunnel, suspended from every wall, from behind every darkened pane of glass. Cobalt orbs burning with hate.</p><p><em> Well, at least we know what happened to the colonists, </em> she thought bitterly.</p><p>“Pour it on!” Shepard roared, and filled the air with the thunder of her rifle.</p><p>The husks came on like a tidal wave, scrabbling, clawing, dashing forward on all fours, howling as they rushed the encircled soldiers. They were met with volleys of precise rifle fire, punching them off their feet, dropping them off the ceilings and sending them plummeting off balconies and through doorways and windows. The nine stood shoulder to shoulder, overlapping fields of fire killing Reapers in droves. They piled the dead three, four, five high, but still they kept swarming, driven like a hive of angry wasps. Shepard pitched her voice to carry above the din, shouting encouragement.</p><p>“Warm it all up! Everything you got! Keep firing, Dexicus! Let them have it! Plunkett, watch your nine! Vokrax, call your reloads. Sandekan, cover him! Keep that volley up! What’s the matter, marines - you trying to live forever?”</p><p>“I’m out!” Laedros called, frantically. “I need a thermal clip, does anyone have a- Spirits!” The husk dropped nearly on top of her, sending her stumbling. It had the face of a young woman. The torn remnants of a sundress clung to her ichor-black metal skin.</p><p><em> Yellow, </em> Shepard thought incongruously, before smashing the husk’s face in with her rifle-butt. It strained, clawed at her, fell silent when she shot it four more times at point blank. Snapped the gun up to her shoulder with practiced ease and blew two more husks off their feet as they charged. Her eyes found another, and another, and her finger did its deadly work. Time slowed to a crawl. It always did, with death on the line. Her veins pumped liquid gold. Her lips pulled back into a fierce smile. Her skin tingled like she’d slid into a bath full of ice water. Her nerves sung a song more shrill than a ship’s whistle. </p><p>
  <em> “I’m not saying you don’t know how to handle a gun, Shepard, but some of us know how to make one dance.” </em>
</p><p>She was dancing, now.</p><p>The rifle kicked against her shoulder, kicked two more husks off their feet. Sent a third tumbling over the railing of a balcony above T’Nere. Took off the jaw of one trying to bite at Vokrax. They came straight at her, funneling themselves into her lines of fire. She strode out of the circle of marines. Steady. Confident. In control. Her finger squeezed. A pair of blue eyes disappeared, the husk’s head blown off above the nose. Squeeze. The arm reaching out to slash at Plunkett’s face vanished in a cloud of black metal fragments. Squeeze. The rest of the husk followed suit. A glowing icon blinked on the side of the gun. She thumbed the ejection port, left hand already snagging a thermal clip from the back of her belt. Three more husks rushed her. The hand on the thermal clip closed into a fist, and she felt a surge of power flow through her. A blue glow surrounded her, suffused her silhouette. The husks exploded like overripe melons, ripped apart by a biotic field. She slammed the thermal clip in and the icon on her gun stopped blinking. Firing from the hip, she dropped another, and another. Fell to one knee, spun, fired. Rose up, snapping the rifle back up to her shoulder. Fired. Spun again, deftly weaving out of the grasp of a rotting, metal hand. Fired. She moved on instinct alone, flowing from target to target, the calm center of a hurricane of bullets. Her mind quieted.  And then, it was over.</p><p>“Holy shit,” Plunkett whispered reverently.</p><p>The atrium reeked of cordite and dried gore. Husks didn’t bleed, but the bodies sometimes still had blood in them. After eleven years, these ones smelled like ruin, like rot. There were a hundred dead husks at the least, most of them stacked around Shepard, where they had made their charge. Where the husks had been climbing over piles of their own dead to get at her. Where she had broken rank, had drawn herself out to keep her squad out of harm’s way.</p><p>“... you see that?”<br/>“I’ve never seen anyone move like that.”<br/>“Move? I’ve never seen anyone <em>shoot</em> like that…”</p><p> She forced herself to look at them. Their rifle-barrels, cherry-red from so much sustained firing, smoked in the chill recycled air, cast their faces in a harsh red light. They were all panting, wide-eyed, their faces pale. The battle-frenzy had passed; that adrenaline rush that keeps you sharp, keeps you in focus, was wearing off. Soon would come the shakes, the weak knees and weaker stomachs. The nightmares. For now, it was all smiles, and back-slapping, and shrill, nervous laughter. They should have been dead, but they weren’t, they were alive, so acutely alive, could taste it, revel in it. Fear, adrenaline, and a taste of victory made for a potent cocktail.</p><p>Shepard knelt down, staring into the dead eyes of one of the husks. There was nothing but pain and terror on that ashen face, buried under a skein of rotting flesh and infectious, self-replicating nanites that peeled the lips to black, that liquified you from the inside out, replacing the warmth with a cold, empty hunger, replaced the life with an all-encompassing need to consume. It was a kind of brilliance, in its cruelty and horror: they took your friends, your family, your loved ones, killed them in front of you, changed them into something almost but not quite unrecognizable, and then pushed them, howling, right back at you. If your mother came at you, all talons and teeth and cobalt blue eyes, could you pull the trigger? Your brother or sister? Your best friend? Your lover?</p><p><em> Yellow </em>, the thought drifted through her mind again, looking for something to connect to.</p><p>It was the husk that had tried to bite Laedros. It had once been a young girl. Probably human, but it was hard to tell; time had not been kind to these husks, and Shepard had torn them to pieces. Images of the firefight flashed through her mind; cerebral implants analyzing firing vectors, improving targeting parameters. They made her nauseous. As the adrenaline seeped away, replaced by a stomach full of boiling bile, she didn’t see husks, she saw people.</p><p>There were little silver bangles on the husk-girl’s wrists and ankles, and a matching one around the ruin of her neck. Little crescent moons dangled from it. They must have twinkled when she walked. She would have been just a child. A sweet, innocent child, in a pretty yellow dress, in jewelry that twinkled when she walked, when they grabbed her, ripped her screaming, weeping, out of her parents’ arms, dragged her to that waiting spike-</p><p>
  <em> “She was confident, and kind. She loved to wear yellow. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.” </em>
</p><p>“Not even a scratch on her…”</p><p>“... didn’t even <em> need </em> us, she could have killed them all herself-”</p><p>“Did you see the shot she took? Blew that one’s head clean off before it could bite…”</p><p>“... knew her biotics were strong, but-”</p><p>“Echo Team, status report,” Shepard spoke in a tone that brooked no further reminiscing.</p><p>“Down to two thermal clips each, but we still have grenades,” T’Nere responded instantly. “Sandekan took a scratch, already put some medi-gel on it but it’ll need looked after.”</p><p>“Plunkett, are we still picking up movement down below?”</p><p>“Uh,” he scrambled to activate his omni-tool. “No ma’am. I think that was all of them.” He blinked. “That’s gotta be all of them, right? There’s no way there was more than that.”</p><p>She ignored him. **Echo One, this is Echo Leader. Finishing our sweep and need a pickup.**</p><p>**Getting a little choppy out here, ma’am,** Xaanis responded after a moment. **Storm’s picking up. I’m circling back around, no signs of life from up here. ETA, fifteen minutes.**</p><p>**Acknowledged.** She gestured to her squad. “Echo Team, mount up. We finish our sweep, tag any valuable salvage for DSR, and get the hell out of here.”</p><p>“Yes, ma’am.” The reply was instant. Obedient. A ghost of a smile flicked her lips, but all she could taste was bitterness.</p><p>They moved.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ensign Felo'Surul vas Moreh detected a Condition One distress signal while scanning the Herschel system. We isolated the signal to Clobaka, where surface scans registered the hydrocarbon refinery at Hadley’s Hope. Preliminary orbital diagnostics showed no signs of life, and officially the colony had not reported in in over eleven years. On my authority, Echo Team deployed to the surface to investigate... </em>
</p><p>Shepard sat in a worn, old recliner, trying to write the mission’s after-action report as Echo Team revelled around her.</p><p>It was the team’s first real firefight, and they were as drunk on that alone as they were the alcohol ration that had been broken out of the Moreh’s stores in celebration. Every soldier always remembered their first - it was seared into their brains, like a brand that never fully heals, always itchy with the memory. It was, inevitably, always the same. A haze of terror and adrenaline. Weapons and armor feeling like dead weights. Leaden limbs and blurry eyes. The noise is deafening. An icy hand, gripping the heart. And then, when it goes quiet…</p><p><em> You’re alive, and they aren’t, </em> Shepard mused. <em>  And you don’t think about the friends you’ve lost, or the reason you’re there. That comes later. All that matters now is that they tried to kill you, and you’re still here. And that high feels like it will last forever. </em></p><p>“... just walks out the middle of us like she’s doing a run-down at the range,” Plunkett was shouting, waiving his arms for emphasis and forgetting he had a drink in each hand. “Just, BAM! BAM! BAM! Sighted and dropped.”</p><p>“All I saw was the eyes. Hundreds of blue eyes, in the dark… no infra-red, no stab-lights, just muzzle-flashes and those Spirits-damned eyes…”</p><p>“Thought little Cambia was a goner,” Vokrax was rumbling, eyes already liquid from the drink. “Dropped off the ceiling right on top of her. Iakon had one attached to his arm, I’m trying to slap a new thermal clip into my shotgun…”</p><p>
  <em> … established a perimeter upon making planetfall. The outer colony had been abandoned, and there were signs of attempted ground assault, but it appeared to have been foiled by the hub’s reinforced bunker. Specialists Plunkett and Doll were able to unshield the hub, and we conducted a full sweep. </em>
</p><p>“... didn’t even stop to reload,” Plunket was on top of a table now, heedless of the liquor he was splashing about with his broad gestures. “Just turns asari-blue and pulls the things apart with her mind. With her MIND!”</p><p>“-hear she trained with asari!”</p><p>“I hear she’s <em> half </em> asari-”</p><p>“No, you idiot, she’s just married to one-”</p><p>“-strongest human biotic, no question. Is she stronger than you, T’Nere?”</p><p>“-not answering that question.”</p><p><em> Colony population- </em> Shepard furrowed her brow. <em> -Compromised by Reaper forces. Casualties effective total. </em> She pressed the sides of her head with her palms, feeling the migraine already building. ‘ <em> Compromised. Casualties effective total.’ </em> A bloodless phrase, to encompass so much pain and fear and loss. She hated herself for writing it, but couldn’t bring herself to go into more brutal detail.</p><p>
  <em> Actionable materiel tagged and recovered by Deep Salvage &amp; Reconnaissance. Distress signal deactivated. No further readings from this cluster. Returning to Newton Relay reconstruction to await further instruction.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sybilla Shepard, ST&amp;R. </em>
</p><p>“And here’s to her!” Plunkett was shouting, raising both glasses. Shepard glanced over her data-pad and saw the lounge was all standing, all their glasses upraised. “Nine went out, nine came home. Nobody else could have pulled us all out of that alive, ma’am. Here’s to Shepard!”</p><p>“Nine went out, nine came home! Here’s to Shepard!” the rest of the squad bellowed in unison, glasses sloshing. Eight sets of eyes stared at her, expectantly.</p><p>She sighed. Stood, raised her yet-untouched glass in salute. “Here’s to Echo Team,” she pitched her voice to carry. “Nine went out, nine came home, and that’s on <em> everyone </em>, not any one soldier. We watch each other’s backs, we don’t get captured. Now, enjoy tonight - that’s an order!”</p><p>They roared in approval. Pounded back their drinks, pounded each other on the back, shouted her name, chanted “Echo Team! Echo Team!” Soldiers saluted her, gripped her hand, tried to press more drinks into it. She politely but firmly made her way through the throng and to the door, deflecting praise, offering encouragement. They were still shouting her name when the door slid shut behind her. She nearly collapsed against the wall, the vicegrip on her chest forcing the breath from her lungs, the pressure on her temples blurring her vision. All she could see when she closed her eyes was the girl in the yellow dress, being ripped from her mother’s arms. Only now, the girl had pebbly blue skin, a wave-like crest at the back of her neck, and shimmering sapphire eyes…</p><p>“Is it like this every time, for you?”</p><p>Shepard glanced up. Saith T’Nere stood over her, violet-flecked eyes looking down at her like a huntress watching her prey downscope, a mixture of dispassionate analysis and gentle appraisal. She was big, for an asari, nearly as tall as she was, with the same lean, athletic profile. A ‘swimmer’s body,’ one James Vega had once called it. Her mind honed by warfare, her first thoughts were how T’Nere’s reach was just a little shorter, and how she could utilize her slightly greater mass to absorb an attack, to let the asari tire herself out and equalize the gap in agility between the two of them. </p><p>“Every time,” Shepard said quietly after a moment, straightening.</p><p>“Goddess,” she exhaled. The big asari just shook her head and started to walk away. Shepard would have let her go, but something made her follow. They wandered the cold, cramped halls of the Moreh for a short while, neither speaking. It was late, and the ship was quiet the further away they drifted from the lounge. Her mind was replaying the scene from earlier, over and over. The husk, dropping off of the ceiling. Cambia, stumbling, falling, losing her rifle. Fear in the turian’s grey-green eyes. Mandibles working soundlessly. The girl/husk, yellow dress rotting off her in the dead air, hands like knives, reaching out. The butt of her rifle catching the girl/husk in the jaw. A wet, ripe burst. A metallic scream. Her gun kicking, roaring in her grasp. Silence.</p><p>“I lost my bondmate when they took Thessia,” T’Nere said finally.</p><p>They were standing in one of the lower observation lounges. Around the Moreh, the yellow-green Kepler Verge swirled and churned in the long darkness. Star-clusters and systems drifted past, like dandelion spores in spring on a breezy day. Light, ethereal. Endless.</p><p>“I’m… sorry,” Shepard’s voice was hoarse, her throat tight.</p><p>“Yeah. Me too.” T’Nere was staring intently into the stars, silent. A long time passed. Shepard turned, to leave her with her thoughts. “Ran,” the asari choked out, her shoulders working strangely. It froze her in her tracks.</p><p>“Ranlise. Ranlise Hezor. My Ran. She was… she studied music at the University of Serrice. She played the high harp.” Her voice broke. “She’d play in the mornings, on our terrace, and I’d just… sit there, and sip my tea and watch. The sun would dance on her fingers, on the strings. It was like she was plucking starlight. It sounded like she was playing with the wind and the rain itself. Goddess, she was so beautiful. I felt like a clod of dirt, lying under a sunflower.</p><p>“I was half a galaxy away. Alliance territory. Somewhere near here, I think, actually, wherever ‘here’ is.” She shook her head bitterly. “We were rounding up humans from the frontier, killing husks. Trying to stall their ground forces while the bigger colonies were evacuated. Nobody knew what was happening; we just knew it was all falling apart around us. I just kept thinking: why aren’t they calling us home? Why aren’t we fighting in asari space?</p><p>“We’re hunkered down for the night, trying to fix our navcom, figure out where in the hell we are. Ran calls me, Goddess knows how she got a signal. She’s crying. I ask her what’s wrong, and… and-”</p><p>T’Nere’s knuckles were white, her fingers digging painfully into the railing. Her eyes were drell black, trembling like a leaf in the wind.</p><p>“I can see Serrice <em> burning </em> in the screen behind her. The University, the silver towers of the Veyestna, the persimmon gardens of Matriarch Mirassne... Did you ever see them, Shepard? Did you ever just walk along the banks of the Batine, smell the irssal blossoms in spring? Stand beneath the silver waterfalls at Chaiane and watch the moon shimmer in the cold pools below? Did you ever sit on the beach, on the shore of the Lu'norae, and watch the sun rise over the waters?”</p><p>Shepard could feel the tears brimming in her own eyes. “No.” She shook her head, remembering her own time on Thessia as a teenager. A lifetime ago. Three lifetimes ago.</p><p>“... she’s hiding underneath the window now,” T’Nere was saying, her whole body convulsing. “‘I love you,’ she says. ‘I love you. It’s okay. It’s okay. Promise me you won’t come back. There’s nothing-’” She gripped the railing, and a blue glow suffused her hand. The railing bent like it was made of paper.</p><p>“‘There’s nothing left, here. I love you. Promise me you won’t try to save me, Sai. <em> Promise me. </em> ’ And then, I can see behind her, this… this <em> shape </em> comes out of the sky, black and red, and a shadow falls over everything, and…”</p><p><em> “You’re not leaving me behind! Not again.” Liara struggles weakly against Garrus’ grasp. “You promised. You </em> promised <em> !” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Whatever happens…”  </em>
</p><p>T’Nere was staring at her, now. The violet flecks in her eyes had returned. Both of them were pale, wan. Both sets of eyes were ringed in red. “She’s there, every time I close my eyes.”</p><p>“I know,” Shepard exhales. “I know.”</p><p>“I know you know,” T’Nere’s gaze burns straight through her. “I just thought… I just thought you’d like to know you aren’t the only one carrying ghosts inside her jacket. That you… aren’t alone.”</p><p>Shepard turned away, forced her gaze to the stars, tore her eyes away from the asari. Something wet and warm dripped down her cheek. Her shoulders felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. Like the whole ship was strapped to them.</p><p>“What was her name?”</p><p>
  <em> “Whatever happens…” </em>
</p><p>The memory hit like a knee to the gut. Her muscles tensed, her jaw clenched. She looked down, saw her own handprints in the observation deck railing.</p><p>“Liara. Liara T’Soni.” She opened her mouth, closed it. There was something in her throat, gripping it like a vice.</p><p>“It helps, sometimes, to talk,” T’Nere urged, not unkindly.</p><p>Her mouth worked silently for a moment, but nothing but ragged gasps would come. It felt like her heart was being squeezed. The pressure on her temples was unbearable. She kept opening her mouth, but nothing could come out. And then:</p><p>“I promised her I was always coming back.”</p><p>It hurt just to say it out loud, to hear her own words, hear the brutal lie in them.</p><p>“She watched me get spaced, over Alchera. Mourned me. Turned her whole life upside down, because of me. I spent two years in a coma, or something, on an operating table. And she was out there the whole time, searching for a sign of me. Holding onto these tags, like a life preserver.</p><p>“And what did I do, the <em> moment </em> I got back? Was it ‘fly to Illium on the fastest ship I could find, and reunite with the woman I loved?’ No, of course not. I’m Commander Shepard, and Commander Shepard doesn’t have a life outside of her duty. Commander Shepard only has the next mission, and the next one, and the next one.</p><p>“Our walls were both up, when we met again. She’d found purpose… in another way. It was complicated. I had my mission, and she had hers. But she… she kept these fucking tags, the whole time,” Shepard cursed bitterly. She realized she was gripping her tags, felt that familiar brand pressing into the flesh of her palm. The words spilled out of her, uncontrollable.</p><p>“She still wanted me. God knows why. But she made me promise her I’d always come back. I should have taken the damn ship and just… flown. Drifted. Found somewhere out there, just for the two of us. But instead I made her a promise, and I went off on the next mission. And the next. And…</p><p>“And so I dragged her right back into the fucking war.</p><p>“She could have gone anywhere, been with anyone. But I wanted her to be with me, by my side. Selfish bitch I am. Dragged her through hell and back twice over. Against Saren and the geth, against the Shadow Broker, against Cerberus, against the Reapers. Against her own <em> mother </em>.</p><p>“And at the end of it all-” her voice faltered. “At the end of it all, she gets hit, and Garrus gets hit, and I looked her right in the eyes, and I threw them into the guts of that fucking ship and told it to take off. Because they would have slowed me down. Because I had to <em> complete the mission. </em> Because I can’t just be Sybilla, just be Billie. Because I always have to be Commander Shepard.”</p><p><em> “You promised. You </em> promised <em> !” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Whatever happens…”  </em>
</p><p>T’Nere didn’t meet her gaze. She just stared quietly out, into the stars. <em>She sees me for what I am</em> Shepard thought. <em>They always do, in the end.</em> <em>I don’t blame her. I’m a vicious, contemptible thing. I hate myself.</em></p><p>“So that’s why you’re out here with the Fleet, and not playing politician with the Council, or the Admiralty,” the asari said after a long time. “I thought you were just an adrenaline junkie, an old war-dog set in her ways. But you’re not. You hate this, every second of it.</p><p>Comprehension flashed in her violet-flecked eyes. “Goddess. You think they’re out there somewhere, don’t you.”</p><p>“They <em> are </em> out there, somewhere,” Shepard growled. “The Normandy was never found. Last reports put her passing through the Charon Relay. That puts her out here somewhere, in the Traverse.” She stared out, into the endless void in front of them. “I have to find them. I <em> have </em> to. I promised.”</p><p>
  <em> “Whatever happens…”  </em>
</p><p>Shepard turned away. “I should go. I have to… I should go.” She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Her body screamed at her. She felt a million years old. She lurched out of the lounge, toward the hallway. Toward her quarters.</p><p>“Shepard.” She turned, stopped. T’Nere had her back to her, still studying the stars. “Liara T’Soni? Your bondmate was Matriarch Benezia’s daughter?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“She studied at the University of Serrice. Just like Ran.” It wasn’t a question.</p><p>“Yes,” she managed hoarsely.</p><p>“If you hadn’t brought her along… she’d have been there, when the Reapers attacked,” T’Nere said, her voice very small.</p><p>It was too much. The vicegrips squeezed her heart. She felt empty. Shepard staggered away from the stars, away from the asari, and into the mercifully quiet darkness of her quarters.</p><p>
  <em> “Whatever happens…” </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Honor, Duty, Service</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Agent Shepard to see you, Admiral.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hackett rubbed his temples as he stared at the blinking green light on the desk-set communicator. Bloodshot eyes studied the scorched pre-dawn sky, the grey-black clouds that would perhaps forever hang over the former Earth Systems Alliance naval base in Vancouver. The day’s rain hadn’t quite started yet, but it was only a matter of time. Hackett had come to expect a few things since the aftermath of the Battle for Earth and the Reaper invasion. Turian arrogance, Shepard’s stubbornness, and rain were the three highest on his list, currently. It was something to do with what the Reapers had done to Earth’s atmosphere, coming down in force, setting up that transference beam to the Citadel in the last days of the war. The scientists told him that it would heal, eventually, but only an asari or a krogan might see it. It was funny, in a way: when he was a boy, pre-contact, the worry had been that it would be humans that killed their own planet, long before they could explore the stars. Now repairing Earth’s shattered atmosphere was just another item on an already-extensive list of things Hackett had to pay attention to in earnest. And he’d thought surviving the Reaper War was going to be the difficult part.</span>
</p><p><span>“Send her in,” he grunted after a moment. </span><span><br/>
</span> <em><span>Not that I don’t already know what she’s going to say.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>The Commander - </span>
  <em>
    <span>no,  just the Spectre, now, he reminded himself </span>
  </em>
  <span>- swept into the room. She looked good - most of the scarring had healed, and she’d filled out again, packing her lanky frame with taut, lean muscle, a far cry from the almost-skeletal woman they’d wheeled out of the newly-dedicated Solus Memorial hospital to see him six, seven months earlier. Since then, she’d taken to chopping her hair jaw-length, instead of the long, pulled-back bun he’d recognized for the better part of two decades. She’d also traded her Alliance regulation blues for a severe black tunic and trousers of an almost turian style, chased with gold and emblazoned with the forbidding emblem of the Citadel’s Special Tactics and Reconnaissance team. It struck Hackett that he’d never seen Shepard in civilian clothes, not even when she was temporarily working alongside Cerberus, and it unsettled him somehow. All those years of her being an unstoppable force, he’d had the unshakable confidence that she was, at the heart of it, an Alliance unstoppable force. Now, he wasn’t so sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard snapped to attention and saluted smartly. As much by reflex as anything, Hackett followed suit. “You don’t have to do that anymore, Agent. Remember? You resigned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I don’t have to, Admiral,” she replied, giving him a meaningful look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His jaw worked silently, and his eyes softened, a little. Only those who’d served with him as long as Shepard had might have understood what that gesture and those words meant. In fact, Shepard might be the only one left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take a seat.” He gestured to the chairs in front of the polished mahogany desk as he sat down himself, knowing she’d stand, anyways. She stood, ignoring the high-backed leather recliners as she always did. She’d needled him about the office, the first time she’d seen it. They’d shared a laugh over how Anderson would have had the audacity to call them both ‘soft around the edges,’ while maintaining a secret luxury apartment on Silversun Strip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t suppose you’ve considered my offer any further?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe I was quite clear the last time,” she said, any memory of warmth falling out of her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I suppose you were.” Hackett steepled his fingers. “Agent…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Admiral.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dammit, Shepard,” he snapped. “The Federated Republic needs you. Hell, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> need you. And we need you here, on Earth, not…” He stood suddenly, hands pressing down on the desk. “Not chasing shadows and ghosts out in the Traverse!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shadows and ghosts?” Her face twisted in a fury. “The Normandy is out there, Hackett. My </span>
  <em>
    <span>crew </span>
  </em>
  <span>is out there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone’s crew is out there!” Hackett shot back. “A thousand ships, missing or reported lost from Sword and Shield fleets alone. The mass relays, gone. Every world outside Sol, cut off.” He began to pace, ticking the death count on his fingers. “The Citadel, all but destroyed. Galactic populations reduced by up to seventy percent. Seventy percent! Alliance parliament, gone. The turian Hierarchs, gone. The entire batarian Hegemony, gone. Thessia. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s been more than a year since you fired the Crucible and we’re still counting the dead. We haven’t even swept this cluster free of Reaper holdouts. There are still Destroyers on Titan. And you’re commandeering quarian deep salvage ships to scour the Traverse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> gave you the intel on those Destroyers,” Shepard hissed. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> wouldn’t let me take the fight to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because we don’t have the resources, Shepard! You know that.” He collapsed into his chair. “I have less than a flotilla to my name. The Alliance navy is gone. The turians barely have more ships than we do. The asari fleet consists of the Destiny Ascension and a single support ship, and I doubt the quarians and the geth between them could field more than a half-dozen battle-ready vessels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And they want to take those ships and go dig out what's left of their homes, Shepard. We’re scattered. Divided. If there are more than just a few Destroyers, on Titan? If there are more pockets of Reapers throughout what used to be Council space?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned forward. “If they figured out how weak we are, how defenseless? We can’t survive another Reaper War. Dammit, woman, be smart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wheeled away from him, scoffing, standing with her back turned as she glowered out the window. “So, your plan is what - just hope the Reapers go away? Hope they don’t piece things together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My plan,” he said, his head buried in his hands, “was for you to be the figurehead of a Federated Galactic Republic. A single intergalactic, interspecies government. A united front, in the wake of the kind of division and selfishness that almost got us all killed.” His eyes burned holes in her back from underneath bushy eyebrows. “I’d have thought you, of all people, would understand that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her shoulders slumped. It was a low blow, and he knew it, regretted it instantly. Said it anyways. He needed Shepard, the galaxy needed Shepard, and if getting her back in the fight meant making her hate him, well… Hackett didn’t sleep enough anymore to lose sleep over anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need you, Billie,” he said, his voice rough but not unkind. Kept pushing her. “Now, more than ever. You united a galaxy before. I need you to do it again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” her shoulders shook. She took a deep breath. Inhaled. Exhaled. Hackett could hear her muttering under her breath in an alien language. It sounded like asari.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I do this,” her voice dropped to a raw whisper. “If I do this, will you help me find her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words tore at the old man’s soul. He despised himself, then and there, hated himself with every fiber of his being. Hated what he’d done to this proud, fierce woman, who’d died for all their petty sins and squabbles twice, who’d sacrificed everything she was in the name of the Alliance maxims of Honor, Duty, Service, three words that hung around their necks like a noose. Who deserved more than anyone alive, anywhere, to mourn what she’d lost and try to find a little peace, a little happiness, in the cold and unforgiving stars. Who, after all these years, just wanted to rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers dug into his palms as he stood, silently, quaking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re a damned monster if you do this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a voice whispered in his mind’s ear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s unforgivable. You’re no better than the Illusive Man was. You’ll be just like him, chewing her up and spitting her out, using her until there’s nothing left. And she’ll let you. God help us, she’ll let you, because she trusts you. Let her go. Let her grieve, for God’s sake. Let this woman rest. You’re better than this, Steven.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, another, deeper, colder voice murmured in the dark places of his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, you aren’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you do this...” he forced the words out between clenched teeth, every syllable condemning him to damnation.. “If you help me build my Republic fleet, I will help you find Dr. T’Soni.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wouldn’t look at him. He wouldn’t have been able to stand it if she had been. She wouldn’t look back at him, but she turned, sideways, and stood at attention in front of the framed portrait next to the window. One of the three pieces of decoration Hackett had elected to hang on the white walls of this small, spartan office. A painting of a pair of men in Alliance naval dress uniforms, peaked caps and epaulets and buckled swords. One, older, fair, scarred, with bushy facial hair and flinty grey eyes. The other clean shaven, dark, stocky, his eyes a warm brown in contrast to the sternness of their profiles. A small black and red pin hung from his collar. An N7 insignia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard snapped a smart salute. Hackett watched her quietly through watery eyes and a father’s pride, like he’d watched her through her N7 graduation, like he’d watched her when he pinned a Star of Terra to her breast after the Skyllian Blitz, like he’d watched her at her graduation ceremony as a skinny sixteen-year-old with forged credentials.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barely registered her leaving. Didn’t get up, didn’t move. Just sat in his chair, feeling like he’d just sold his soul, watching the rain outside. After a long while, he buzzed the intercom. “Cancel my appointments for today,” he rumbled in a gravelly voice as he rose, feeling a million years old, and crossed the room to the small side bar. His hand hovered over a glass for a few moments, but found the bottle instead. “I don’t wish to be disturbed.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this confirmed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hackett strode briskly through the half-collapsed atrium, shuddered as a cold wind blew in through the destroyed wall and sent sheafs of paper scattering throughout the halls. Overhead, fighter craft zipped past, followed shortly after by the heavier frigates and cruisers in low orbit. All around them, the site was like an anthill, a flurry of constant activity; construction workers in repurposed ATLAS mechs dragged away rubble, officers and soldiers moving this way and that, civilians stumbling about, as if still in a fugue. </span>
  <em>
    <span>In a way, we’re all just stumbling about,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hackett thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir, just now,” the junior officer was saying, though Hackett could barely hear him. “God knows she’s survived. She was comatose when we found her, half-buried under a pile of rubble. There’s still oxygen on the station, somehow, but not much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re certain it’s her? This isn’t the first time someone thought they’d found her.” He furrowed his brow. “A lot of people want her found. A lot of wishful thinking, Ensign.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same blood type, same genetic handprint,” the Ensign said. “And… she was wearing this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held up a pair of Alliance dog tags. They looked like they’d been pulled backwards through a thresher maw’s stomach - half corroded, worn by blood and sweat and God knows what else, and one of the tags was perforated with holes, through and through. Still, Hackett could see a familiar N7 insignia on one of them, and could make out the writing on the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard,<br/>
</span>
  <span>Sybilla R.<br/>
</span>
  <span>5923-AC-2826 ESA</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Get me a transport over there,” Hackett said, his voice tight.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"... for exemplifying the indomitable spirit of Humanity, for acts of extreme bravery under fire, for  an exemplary display of the maxims that we hold dear - Honor, Duty, Service…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hackett looked down at the young woman standing rapt at attention in front of him. She was tall, but still had a teenager's lankiness, her dress blues looking two sizes too big for her at least, as was the belt her ornamental sword was buckled to. Unruly black locks had been pinned up beneath her cap. The fat lip, blackened eye and mess of freckles scattered on her twice-broken nose gave him a sense of just how young the Ensign really was. But there was something in those eyes, a hidden fire ready to be kindled at a moment's notice. There must have been, to pull her through the last week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"... it is my great honor to bestow upon you, Sybilla Reem Shepard, the Star of Terra, and the thanks of a grateful Confederated Alliance of Earth Systems. It is also my pleasure to confer upon you the rank of Junior Lieutenant."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His weathered, scarred face broke into a rare smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Congratulations, Junior Lieutenant," He draped the massive silver star about her neck, fastened with a cloth-of-gold ribbon. It dangled upon her breast, looking all the world like a silver dinner plate on her skinny frame, he concealed a smile as he stood sharply to attention, snapping out a salute. Shepard radiated a quiet pride. She met his gaze evenly, unflinching, and Hackett thought he could see a measure not only of the woman who stood before him, but a glimpse of what was to come. She returned the salute, and the audience chamber roared with approval. "Shepard!" and "Elysium!" echoed throughout the room, and a smattering of "Illyria! Vengeance for Illyria!" But mostly, they just yelled. The rear of the room was packed with non-commissioned officers, junior ratings, and a smattering of ensigns, and it appeared the new Junior Lieutenant was well-liked among the lower decks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shepard.” He tilted his head quizzically. “Any relation to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s my mother. Sir.” the young Shepard answered flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aah. Hannah - pardon, Commander Shepard - is a formidable woman. I don’t think I’ve seen her since she was marine detail officer onboard the Einstein.” He peered out into the crowd. “Is she here tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Sir.” There was a brief pause. “Commander Shepard took a posting as Executive Officer aboard the Kilimanjaro. I believe she’s out in the Traverse. Sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyebrows raised. “You call your mother ‘Commander,’ Junior Lieutenant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We….” There was another brief pause. “We aren’t exactly… close. Sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.” He folded his arms. “And I’m sure breaking out of BAaT to enlist in the navy with forged documents, underage, and then getting shipped off to asari space to serve with a commando unit improved your relationship, Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stood as still as a statue, eyes locked straight ahead. Hackett could see color blooming under her oversized collar. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, truth is, Junior Lieutenant,” he leaned in close enough that only she could hear. “Truth is, I’ve had my eye on you for some time now. I know your story. I know your service record, I know where you come from. I’ve spoken to every C.O. you’ve ever had, every training instructor. I’ve read every piece of data ever written about you. I know you better than you know yourself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Junior Lieutenant, are you familiar with the Interplanetary Combatives Training program?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those green eyes snapped right to him. “N-School, sir?” she breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Very good.” He patted her gently on the shoulder. “What do you think, Shepard? Think you can do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” No hesitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled. “The Villa’s no cottage weekend, Junior Lieutenant. You’ll be among the best of the best of the best, from all divisions of the Alliance. You’ll train twenty hours a day, study tactics, logistics, small unit warfare, hand-to-hand combat, marksmanship…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve spent the last three years on Thessia, training with asari commandos,” she spoke with a quiet dignity. Not boastful, matter-of-fact. “I trained every waking hour of every day to keep up with the best special forces unit in Council space, professionals with hundreds of years of experience. I stood shoulder to shoulder with the Serrice Guard, sir.” She looked up at him, and Hackett saw that fire kindled. “I can do this. Sir, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can do this.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made a show of looking unimpressed. “I’m not the one you have to convince, Junior Lieutenant. But now that I see you’re interested, I’ll forward your name to the Villa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those green eyes burned right into him. “I won’t let you down, sir.” She drew herself up, saluted crisply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hackett returned the salute. “Don’t let yourself down, Junior Lieutenant.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked, chewed on this for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now.” He put a hand on her back and pushed her toward the edge of the throng of celebrating soldiers. “This is your day today, Junior Lieutenant. Go and enjoy yourself. That’s an order.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In an instant, she was a child again, gangly limbs and a twice-broken nose and a lopsided smile. Hackett watched her practically leap into the arms of a handsome young soldier who couldn’t have been more than a few years older, into the fierce embraces of her comrades-in-arms, all eager to pound on the back the newly minted Hero of the Alliance, Junior Lieutenant Sybilla Shepard. Fierce children all, they slapped their chests and sprayed each other with drinks, linked arms and gave voice to that time-honored Alliance cry of “Who’s like us? Damn few, and they’re all dead!” Pride welled up in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never had children of his own, but these, these. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she going to pull through, or isn’t she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was perhaps the only quiet wing in any hospital left in the galaxy. In the distance he could hear intercomms buzzing, the footfalls of nurses and doctors and support staff, the steady humming and beeping of medical machinery. Further away still, Hackett was dimly aware of the groans of pain, the wails of next of kin being informed their loved ones would not recover, the screams in the night of injuries seared deeply into the brain that would and could never heal. Here, though, they were as far away from that as they could get, the most optimal conditions and the best care for a woman who might have, quite literally, saved a trillion lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The salarian doctor blinked sideways at him. “Unconfirmed.” She glanced down at a data-pad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glowered at her. “Unconfirmed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unconfirmed,” she repeated. “Impossible to say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor.” He took a deep breath, tried to calm himself. “You’ve got to be able to do better than that. We owe everything to this woman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well aware,” the salarian doctor said with a slight sigh. “But you must understand, Admiral. Despite her extensive augmetic… enhancements, she has suffered extensive tissue and nerve damage. More of her bones are broken than not. She’s suffered blunt-force trauma, multiple contusions, multiple injuries consistent with gunshot wounds, stab wounds, what appears to be a bite… She has third degree burns over a significant portion of her body. Reports indicate she suffered a direct attack from a Sovereign-class Reaper platform - a weapon, I might remind you, Admiral, with a yield that operates in the upper range of 450 kilotons of energy dispersal. Furthermore, her brain was deprived of oxygen for days at a time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Admiral, to put it plainly, by all reasonable limits of human endurance and the best medical science, Commander Shepard should already be dead, dead a hundred times over. I’ve seen entire platoons of soldiers taken out of action, permanently, having suffered collectively less harm than this one woman has endured.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hackett’s shoulders slumped. He turned away from the doctor, feeling drained, feeling empty. An icy hand gripped his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned. “And yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet,” the doctor continued patiently, “Her life signs are stabilizing. There is neural activity consistent with active brain function. She has a heartbeat and a pulse, albeit faint. There is limited lung function, though we’re supplementing that with ventilation. If I were religious, Admiral, I would call it a miracle. As it is, I simply have no scientific or medical explanation for her continued condition. It is as if she is simply willing herself to persist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Willing herself,” Hackett repeated slowly. There was a lump in his throat the size of a dreadnought. His vision was suddenly very blurry. He blinked, and something wet and warm dripped down his stubbly cheek. “Stubborn, brave, stupid bitch...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor brushed his elbow, gently. “She is under constant observation,” she said softly, “and you will be updated the moment there is a change in her condition. For now, all we have is patience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded. “Thank you, doctor.” Turned to leave. Turned back, to look at the woman in the hospital bed beneath him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was more of a bubble than a bed, in truth. She was wrapped in some kind of antiseptic sheath, to promote skin regrowth to heal the burns. Every limb seemed to have some kind of splint on it. Wires jutted out of the back of her neck, out of her ear, out of her nostrils, out of every vein they could find. They had shaved her head. There was a mask over her eyes, but Hackett could just make out a hawkish profile, an oft-broken nose. Her skin was so peeled and bruised that he couldn’t see any freckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared down at her for a long time. “You shake this off, girl. You hear me?” he rasped. “You shake this off. We need you, Shepard. You fight this. That’s an order.” He drew himself up, saluted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s an order.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“... not </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>again, Shepard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Primarch Septiria’s flanged, two-toned voice held a note of exasperation. Tall even for a turian, she cut an imposing figure, between the scars and the vivid red and black clan-paint daubed on her crested head. She paced with a predator’s restlessness, casting aside the data-pad dismissively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What you’re suggesting is just not possible. The Reapers lack the level of sophistication you’re implying. Without the command units to broadcast their signal, they’re little more than beasts, acting on pure instinct.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the table, Shepard was massaging her temples. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, Hackett thought she looked like herself again, clad in Alliance blues, with an Vice Admiral’s three stars and anchor on each collar. She also looked tired, and frustrated. They all did. The other war-leaders of their respective races sat around the holographic display of the galaxy map, all attention drawn to the blinking red lights in the sector now being called Federated Republic space. They had been at it for hours, and cracks were starting to show in this tenuous experiment called unification.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Primarch,” Shepard was saying, “that’s precisely my point.” Her tone was acid. Hackett winced. He knew she wasn’t going to back down, and had a feeling Septiria wasn’t going to, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at the data.” She produced yet another data-pad, synched it up to the galaxy map. “This is from six weeks ago.” The red blips re-arranged themselves; spread out, tiny, scattered. “This is Admiral Wenn'Taesa’s initial scans of Reaper forces in the cluster. Nests of husks, in uncaptured colonies and civilian centers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, this is from two weeks ago, when we lost contact with Captain D'kyus and the Titania.” She keyed something in on the data-pad, and the blips jumped again; this time, they had spread, grown. Grouped together. “See? They’ve more than doubled. Worse; they’ve started to reinforce each other’s positions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… a stretch, Vice Admiral.” Dalatrass Aelbana peered at the shifting star-map. She was the oldest salarian Hackett had ever seen, and somehow seemed caught between her species’ habitual hyper-active speech patterns and half-asleep. “There is as yet no indication Reaper forces grouping up is anything more than instinctive herding behavior. We’ve seen it before; they are almost migratory at this point, drifting for resources to consume. Nothing suggests a higher intelligence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why aren’t they moving?” Urdnot Criid rumbled. The young krogan, half of his face gone from a thresher maw’s acid, nodded towards Shepard. “Hungry varren gather in packs, but they need to move twice as often to feed the extra numbers. If they were on the hunt - why would they gather in one spot? They look dug in, to me. Like they’re waiting for something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because they are mindless degenerates,” Septiria barked. “Because there is nothing left - human, turian, krogan, asari - in them to think, anymore. They are empty, inside. As well ask why a rock stays put, once it is done tumbling down a cliffside.” She curled her mandibles back in a sneer. “Spirits, but some days it feels as if </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> am talking to a rock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We haven’t lost a ship since the Citadel,” Shepard was pressing. “And all of a sudden, we lose an entire cruiser on what’s supposed to be a relatively small pocket of husks? I know D'kyus, she wouldn’t risk her crew needlessly, and she wouldn’t walk into anything she wasn’t sure she could walk out of again. It had to have been an ambush. They knew she had old intel, tricked her into committing too far when they had the upper hand in numbers and firepower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To be fair, Vice Admiral, we aren’t sure if Captain D'kyus and her crew are lost,” Hackett admitted. He mouthed a silent apology her way, spreading his hands in appeasement to the others. “Even with the best quantum entanglers we can build, without the mass relays it’s a long way for a signal to bounce. Captain D'kyus is only listed as officially overdue as of today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How would they ‘reinforce’ each other’s positions, as you say?” the Dalatrass was asking. “There is nothing in Wenn'Taesa’s scans that suggest the presence of anything as big as a Destroyer. We don’t know if they have any platforms capable of interstellar travel, even inter-cluster travel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are thousands of ships, just lying around,” Criid retorted. “How many husk-nests have we found in empty freighters? It doesn’t take a salarian scientist to jump-start one of those old human Kowloons, crash it into the next planet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which suggests the existence of a higher intelligence,” Matriarch Tevos interjected. Hackett had always thought the former asari Councillor to be one of the loveliest asari he’d ever seen, a beauty now tinged with melancholy. Since the war and the loss of her home, a veil of sadness seemed to hang over the once-charming diplomat. He noted with some scarcely-concealed amusement that she had been watching Shepard rather intently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A coordinating presence. Establishing and reinforcing positions, ambushing an asari cruiser, commandeering freighters?" Tevos continued. "This goes well and beyond the signal strength even a Destroyer platform is capable of producing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But no such platform exists,” Aelbana spread her hands. “The Crucible destroyed all of the Sovereign-class Reapers. We all saw. It’s the only reason why we’re still here, now, having this meeting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it missed one,” Shepard said quietly, and the other Admirals turned to stare at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, here we go,” Septiria rolled her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harbinger was here. Right </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she snapped, pounding a fist on the desk, causing a few of them to jump. “On the last day. It tore Hammer apart. I still don’t know how I survived getting hit by one of those beams, but…” Her words caught for a moment, but she pushed through whatever visions of that day had flooded behind her eyes. “When Leviathan was in my mind, it told me Harbinger was the first Reaper. That makes it older than the Crucible, older than the Citadel, the mass relays. Maybe it knew, about the Crucible.” She stared each of the Admirals in the eye. “Maybe it knew how to protect itself from it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Admiralty chamber was silent for a long, moment. And then, predictably, they all started to talk over each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-absolutely ridiculous,” Septiria guffawed. “A complete fabrication to continue wasting resources on these farcical deep-space scans-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-never did find a body,” mused Aelbana.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-if Shepard says Harbinger is still out there, then Harbinger is still out there,” Criid was shouting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-don’t want it to be true any more than you do!” Shepard exclaimed. “But we can’t discount the possibility out of hand-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-seek to justify your position on this board any way you can,” the turian Primarch jeered in Shepard’s face. “As soon as galactic attention begins to slip away from the great Commander Shepard, you have to find a way to make it about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Hackett’s turn to massage his temples. He glanced over toward Tevos, who was trying to intervene between Shepard and Septiria before one or both of them threw a punch. Or a knife, he thought with a grimace. Or a biotic field.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is getting us nowhere,” Hackett bellowed, his voice the same guttural growl that had demanded obedience during the First Contact War. Everyone stopped shouting and glanced his way, sufficiently cowed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>For the moment</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought bitterly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vice Admiral Shepard has presented her findings.” He rapped his knuckles against the war-table. “We need to decide what we’re going to do about the Titania being listed as overdue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We do nothing,” Primarch Septiria said, immediately. “There is nothing actionable to act upon. Committing additional forces is too costly an endeavor. Either the Titania’s signal is delayed, or it has been lost somehow, and as regrettable as that is-” she at least had the decency to look at Tevos as she spoke, “-as regrettable as that is, certain members of this council have perhaps forgotten, until the last Reaper is dead we are still at war, and in war, soldiers die.” Septiria waggled a mandible. “‘Die for the Cause.’” The turian imperial anthem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I say we send ten cruisers and find out what the hell happened to the Titania,” Criid thundered. “What good is a Federated Republic if we aren’t unified? An attack on one of us is an attack on all of us. We can’t risk being caught unawares again. If the Reapers are massing in the Traverse, I want to know about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I recommend caution,” Dalatrass Aelbana murmured. “The Titania has only been overdue for a day. Surely, this warrants more time spent in deliberation? Given that all evidence of what has transpired has been… circumstantial, at best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We all doubted Shepard once before, and look how that worked out,” Hackett said slowly. He could see his protege flash him a tight, fierce smile from across the room. “But at the same time… the Dalatrass is right. We don’t know anything about the situation. We need to take our time with this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all looked toward Tevos. The elder asari had returned to her chair, and sat with her hands folded in her lap, in quiet contemplation. She was looking at Shepard. Something unspoken seemed to be passing between them. After an awkward pause, she spoke carefully, deliberately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The sad truth of the matter is that we simply cannot risk committing additional resources to investigate what, if anything, has happened to the Titania at present.” Her voice hung sorrowfully in the air, and with it the implication of her words. “We must wait for more information before we proceed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And there’s not much anyone can say to that, is there</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Hackett thought, his heart aching. He'd sent soldiers to die before, every officer at the table had. That kind of brutal calculus was the worst part of war, risking some to save others. Assigning value on a person's life. He thought about how each asari could live to be a thousand years or more, thought about how many of them might have been on that cruiser. Thought about how many years that represented for a species brought perilously close to extinction. Thought about what it must have taken Tevos to make that call, and once more found himself marveling at the quiet strength of the woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The consensus is that we wait, then," Hackett said with finality. "Thank you for presenting your findings, Vice Admiral Shepard. Continue to monitor the situation."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see the fury and frustration mounting under Shepard's collar, the hurt at being mistrusted and dismissed, still, after so many years of being the odd one out in the room, the canary in the coal mine trying to warn the galaxy about Saren, about the Collectors, about the Reapers. She looked like she wanted to flip the table over. She looked like she wanted to say something. Instead she swallowed, and snapped to attention, offering a respectful salute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, sir."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it, then.” He rapped his knuckles on the table. “Adjourned, for now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Admirals rose to leave. Hackett watched as Primarch Septiria rammed her shoulder into Shepards’ as she passed, watched with a great deal of satisfaction as the bigger, heavier turian woman was sent stumbling backward when Shepard subtly shifted her weight forward. The look those two women gave each other reminded Hackett of the way a Reaper’s main gun seemed to boil and seethe the air around it before unleashing its deadly beams. Septiria snarled, looked like she was about to say something, appeared to think better of it, and swept from the chamber. The others affected not to notice. Aelbana quickly pattered after the turian war-leader. Criid gave Shepard a sympathetic pat of support as he left. Tevos was murmuring something to the Vice Admiral in a low voice as Hackett approached. She offered him an elegant, respectful nod. “Until we meet again, Admiral. Vice Admiral.” She gave Shepard another look, her hand ever so slightly brushing the sleeve of her uniform as she seemed to float out of the council chamber.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hackett arched an eyebrow as he watched her depart. The door closed, and the two of them were alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Shepard,” he said with a long, deep sigh. “But the Primarch is right. And the Dalatrass, and the Matriarch. We can’t afford to jump at shadows like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand, sir.” Her voice still burned with a quiet fury. “You don’t need to apologize. I am quite capable of not taking it personally.” Her eyes flashed up at him. “I’ve had a lot of practice at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, we both knew this would be a hard sell.” He leaned back, resting on the table. “When we first gathered the galaxy’s fleets, the Reapers were everywhere, knocking on all our doors at once. It was easy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She barked a bitter laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-fine, </span>
  <em>
    <span>easier</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to get everyone on the same page. Join or die. There wasn’t an alternative. But now?” He gestured to the map behind him. “We’re rebuilding relays, taking back colonies. We’re starting to repopulate cities. The Citadel is almost fully operational. It’s been five years, Shepard. Five years of relative peace. You can’t blame them for wanting to maintain that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five years of peace, and it could all go away like that,” Shepard countered, snapping her fingers for emphasis. “If the Reapers are on the move again, if they’re massing forces, if a command platform managed to survive the Crucible-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If,” Hackett reminded her, gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her shoulders slumped. She strode a few paces away, her back turned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a deep breath. “Are you certain, Vice Admiral, that this is about the Reapers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Her tone dripped acid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He folded his hands. “I mean, Shepard, that I’m not the only one that’s noticing your calls for resources to be committed to search the Traverse are becoming more… frequent. The other Admirals aren’t keen on expanding that way, but… you keep pressing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just say it,” Shepard snapped. “Don’t dance around it with me, Hackett.” She began to pace, moving like a prowling panther, her hackles up. “If you think my council is unsound, if you think my priorities are unclear…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was pushing her too far and he could sense it, but she deserved his honesty. He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Billie, it’s been five years, and there's been no trace of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t-” she choked. Hackett could feel her eyes boring twin holes into his chest. “Don’t you make this about that, Hackett. Don’t you dare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billie-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not. Another. Word.” Her chest heaved. Her voice trembled, dangerously. Her fists balled. An electric blue glow had crept into her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right. You’re right.” He held up his own hands, appeasingly. “I’m out of line. I’m sorry. Shepard. I won’t bring it up again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glow faded. She let her hands fall. Her chest still heaved, nostrils flared. Her hair was disheveled. She looked like she was coming apart at the seams.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She is coming apart at the seams</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a small voice inside of him chided. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Small price to pay, though, right Steven? ‘Just one more hill to take, Shepard. Just one more field to cross. One more mission.’</span>
  </em>
  <span>  The voice seared him with its bitterness.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Just keep throwing her into the breach, Steven. Slap together what’s left with medi-gel, hold the pieces in place with another medal she can keep in a shoebox at the back of her closet. Use her up, until there’s nothing left.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was… was there anything else, sir?” she was asking. She stood, unsurprisingly, at attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hackett sighed. “Yeah, there is. When’s the last time you got any sleep, Vice Admiral?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question took her aback. “I don’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, try to get some.” He pushed himself up, off the table. “We both need to be at our best, Vice Admiral. I’m exhausted, and I imagine you must be, as well. Take tomorrow to rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, I appreciate it, but…” a shadow flashed across her eyes. “I’m good and ready for whatever you need me for, sir. I can handle it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He winced. “I know you can, Shepard. That’s not what I meant. You need to take a moment or two for yourself, when you can.” He gestured to the panel window that occupied an entire wall of the meeting chamber. Down below, the Citadel’s reconstruction was well underway. Work crews - and the surviving Keepers - had spent years working tirelessly to restore the massive station to its former glory. Up here, there was even artificial sunlight and green grass, in the new Presidium. “Go and take a walk, or something. Get some fresh air. Clear your head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, sir, but…” she studiously avoided looking out the window. Her tone was quiet, measured. Like a pane of ice, with a swift-flowing current beneath. “There’s a few too many memories out there, for me. I’ll just stick to my quarters, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you need to do, you do it,” Hackett sighed. “Just… take care of yourself, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir,” she said, insincerely. She turned to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, and Shepard?” She paused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something I should know, between you and Matriarch Tevos?” He quirked an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was supposed to make her smile. Instead, she looked down at her feet. “Just a… miscommunication, sir,” she said, after a moment, her tone somber.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” He tried not to let apprehension creep into his voice. “Nothing too serious, I hope.” He didn’t think she’d answer. After a moment of silence, she surprised him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t be who she wants me to be,” she said simply. He crooked an eyebrow. He’d already pressed her too far, but his curiosity overwhelmed his good sense and decorum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that is..?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More than just Vice Admiral Shepard.” Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. She flashed him a quick salute, and left him alone with his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Until there’s nothing left</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the voice laughed bitterly.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Mistakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> The coruscating beam slashed through the darkened streets like a tongue of flame, setting alight everything it touched. She felt the air rip from her lungs, felt an invisible hand of force pick her up and fling her aside, casually, as a careless person might discard a piece of litter. Felt a red bloom of agony blossom across her spine as she impacted against the side of a building. Her barriers faltered for a moment, and white spots swam across her eyes as she scrabbled for her rifle. Her armored fingers found only cracked concrete, broken pavement stones, the dust and ash of what had once been one of the oldest and most beautiful cities on Earth. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Forcing herself to one knee, Shepard rapped herself against the head with a gauntleted palm, twice. “Wake up, Billie. Wake. Up.” Her voice was a low, hoarse growl. Her heart was jackhammering in her breast. Her breath came in ragged gasps. In her ear, the open channel they’d been using to organize Hammer’s last desperate push was an incoherent scream of static and desperation. Above, a trio of fighters screamed overhead, weapons systems filling the night with a shrill, staccato fire. A nightmarish, antediluvian shape seemed to materialize out of the smoke and gloom before them, at once some primordial nautiloid and sleek, taloned gauntlet poised to choke the life out of them. Six glittering arachnid eyes flashed in the dark. A talon of flame lashed out from one of them, swatting all three fighters out of the air with contemptuous ease. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Shit. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She willed her frozen limbs out of their terrified fugue. Behind her, the bloodied remnants of Hammer streamed out of battered buildings and devastated thoroughfares, gunned the accelerators on barely-held-together ground vehicles and badly damaged gunships. Ahead of them, a towering conduit of pure energy screamed down from a scorched sky, swirling like the eye of a storm threatening to consume the entire world, the entire species. In the ruins beyond she could already see crawling, chittering movement - husks, thousands of them, dislodged like a horde of soldier-ants from a disturbed hive. It was only a few hundred meters. They were so close. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Shepard looked up, saw Harbinger perched over the beam like a spider at the center of her web, saw those hate-filled yellow orbs glaring down in judgement upon organic life, upon the universe. Saw those crushing, grasping tendrils tighten, coil around the throat of their last and most desperate hope. Saw that, at the very end, their very best would be a footnote in their extinction, one final flash of light before the long night claimed them all. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And then it began to rain fire on them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Move, move! Keep moving! Keep moving!” Shepard unholstered her pistol and ran as she fired, screaming encouragement at the soldiers who ran alongside her, who ran open-eyed and willing into the jaws of death. A turian marine stumbled in front of her. She reached down to pull him up without slowing and he panted a thanks as she passed. A blink later and a crackling lance of pure hatred scythed past, turning him into a cloud of sulfurous black vapor. Another one tore a trio of soldiers apart as they tried to climb over a ruined skycar. Another one drew a line of coruscating death across the upper floors of a building, where a fire team was trying to provide cover. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This isn’t a war, Shepard thought bitterly. This is a massacre. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The churning beam slammed into the Mako weaving wildly just ahead of her, shearing off the front half as if it had been armored in paper and not inch-thick starship-grade alloy. Shepard’s ear was full of panicked, agonized screams as the soldiers trapped inside were incinerated. The explosion flipped the armored personnel carrier end over end, spilling liquid fire into the air and sending the burning hulk tumbling directly into Shepard’s path. Flinging herself sideways, she desperately rolled out of its trail of destruction, feeling flames lick her face as it soared overhead. Soared right towards- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Liara!” she screamed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What was left of the Mako slammed into the pavement with tooth-loosening force, scything shrapnel and flame all around. There was a terrible ringing in her ear, and her head felt like it had been submerged in a fog. Black spots swam in tandem with the white ones swirling in her blurred, ashen vision. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Liara!” she screamed again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Liara was kneeling, her cheeks splattered in mud and ash and blood, her armor scorched and sundered. There was an angry gash just above her eye, dripping blood. A look of horror was frozen on her face. There were splashes of a thick, lurid blue across her blue cheeks. There was something in her arms. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Shepard stumbled a few feet forward. What was left of a sniper rifle lay a few feet away. The turian lay, lifeless, most of his right side a blackened, mangled mess of fused armor and flesh, grey eyes unblinking, unseeing, staring upwards. Shepard waited for him to groan and sit upward, complaining about a headache. Crack a joke about krogan women and scars. Say anything. Instead, he lay there, cradled limply in Liara’s arms. And laid there. And laid there. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The sky above them seemed to crack open, split apart. The monstrous shadow with its monstrous eyes loomed above, six cold, glittering stars of unimaginable callousness and cruelty. A skyscraper-sized talon punched a chasm into the pavement a dozen meters away, shaking the earth, shaking the foundation of the sky. Shepard stumbled, fell to one knee. Her limbs were leaden, her veins burning. Tears of helplessness dripped down her ashen cheek as she tried and failed to will herself to move, to try and stop what she knew was coming. Above them both, the sky boiled.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A reddish haze fell over them. Shepard tried to scream a warning, to whisper, to do anything but remain trapped there, frozen in place. Harbinger’s talon was on her throat, stomping down on her heart, pinning her in place. Liara looked up at her, eyes wide. She was trying to say something to Shepard but Shepard couldn’t hear, could only watch, paralysed, impotent. That terrible red glow above boiled and seethed and crackled with unfathomable loathing, incalculable arrogance. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Please,” Shepard whispered hoarsely. “Please. Please, no. Oh God. Oh God…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Liara stretched a hand out towards her. Shepard could feel her pain, her terror, her helplessness. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Please, no!” Shepard howled at those unfeeling, pitiless stars. “No, no, no, no, no..!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The tendrils of red-black flame licked out, wrapping around Liara T’Soni. Surrounding her. Consuming her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Shepard screamed. And screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed, a scream that tore her throat to bloody ruin, that stripped her soul raw, until her voice was raw, until her body shook, until there was nothing left. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “YOU ARE ALONE, SHEPARD,” the sepulchral voice of Harbinger thundered in her ears. “YOU ARE ALONE YOU ARE ALONE YOU ARE ALONE YOU ARE ALONE YOU ARE ALONE ALONE ALONE ALONE ALONE ALO-” </em>
</p><p><br/>
A pounding at the door.</p><p>“Skip? Skipper?”</p><p>Shepard sat huddled in the bed, knees drawn up to her chest soaked in sweat, her breast heaving. Blood thundered in her ears, her heart as staccato as machine-gun fire. White knuckles gripped sodden sheets. Her eyes were wild, as wide as portholes. A thin trickle of blood dripped out of her nostril. The door slid open. In her half-lucid haze, Shepard saw a femine form silhouetted in the doorway, the delicate sweep of an upturned crest, and choked out a strangled sob.</p><p>“Skipper, are you okay? I heard- oh, Goddess…”</p><p>T’Nere slipped into the room, sliding the door closed behind her, face pale with concern.</p><p>“I’m-”</p><p>Shepard blinked, tried to regulate her breathing. She squeezed her head in both hands as shivers rocked her body. “I’m f-fine. I’ll b-be fine.”</p><p>“Goddess,” T’Nere repeated. “You’re freezing. Here.” She fished in the gloom for a discarded blanket, found one on the floor, and wrapped her commanding officer in it. “You’re bleeding, Shepard.”</p><p>“Oh,” she choked, still panting. After a moment: “Old, overclocked biotic amp. Acts up sometimes.”</p><p>“Goddess,” T’Nere swore, a third time.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Shepard snapped, automatically. “Just… I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Yeah,” T’Nere scoffed. She sat down on the bed next to her. “Yeah, you look it.”</p><p>The Spectre barked a bitter laugh. She wiped the blood from her nose with the back of a trembling hand, feeling drained, feeling trodden upon. A terrible pressure gnawed at her from between her shoulder blades. Her stomach roiled, churned. She felt like death. She longed for it.</p><p>“They’re getting worse, aren’t they,” T’Nere said flatly. It wasn’t a question.</p><p>Shepard let out a ragged sigh. “Well, they aren’t getting any better.”</p><p>T’Nere was quiet for a moment. Shepard couldn’t make out her facial expression in the dark - her shoulders slumped, the asari appeared to be studying the floor, still as a statue. Shepard closed her eyes, hugged her knees tighter to herself. After a moment, she felt T’Nere get up from the bed, heard her cross the floor.</p><p>“Try to get some sleep, Skip,” she said in a soft voice.</p><p>“Yeah,” Shepard managed weakly. “And… thanks. For checking in on me.”</p><p>“Yeah, well…” T’Nere shrugged. “Someone has to.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Shepard slipped from shadow to shadow like a vengeful wraith, her eyes locked in on her target with a predator’s razor focus. Above her lights flashed, thundered, afterimages of swirling shapes and drifting notes thrown into harsh, black and white contrast, illuminated by lightning-flashes or shrouded in gloom. Around her the noise was a steady, cacophonous pulse, a furious artillery cadence like a second heartbeat. She was across the gap in a blink, closing distance with her quarry. She honed onto its exposed back, a target as wide as a broadside.</p><p>Shepard seemed to materialize out of the staccato lights and sounds of Purgatory and coalesce at the scarred old krogan’s elbow. He barely acknowledged her presence, and absolutely refused to acknowledge that she’d gotten the drop on him. Instead, he took a long sip from a salt-rimmed glass, sipping around a tiny pink umbrella with surprising delicacy through an alligator’s gnarled, leathery lips.</p><p>“Shepard,” the krogan grunted, not looking at her.</p><p>“Wrex,” she growled by way of response.</p><p>A bartender floated past. “Double brandy. From Serrice, if you have it, Earth if not.” Shepard’s familiar drink order twinged something in what was left of her heart. She’d always meant to go back to Serrice, to climb the Seyxethea mountains and look out over those snow-capped peaks, those ancient glaciers and hidden valleys. There had always been something else; a new mission, a galaxy to save. Now the choice was taken from her.</p><p>Shepard and Wrex stood side by side, drinking in silence, the tension between the two of them roiling, simmering, like an unwatched pot. She could feel a red rage mounting in him, could feel her own self-hatred spiralling in response, a gnawing tension between her shoulder blades. Finally, the krogan set down his drink.</p><p>“I ought to pull your rotten guts out,” Wrex rumbled with all the pent-up destructive force of an avalanche. He turned to her, drawing himself up to a mountainous height, slitted eyes and slab-like teeth reminiscent of the ancient predators that stalked an ancient Earth, that taught humans to fear the darkness and huddle together around meagre fires for warmth and protection.</p><p>Shepard was a sheet of ice over a swift-churning river in the dead of winter. She let Wrex’s anger cascade over her, challenged him to try to melt the frozen block that had defined the emptiness inside of her. They were a volcano erupting over a glacier; an impossible force and an immovable object colliding.</p><p>“I always said if I came for you, it wouldn’t be in the back, Wrex,” she said coldly. She turned just enough to arch an eyebrow at him, raised a hand curled around an invisible gun and squeezed the trigger twice. “Two shots, center mass.”</p><p>His lips split in a low, guttural snarl as he leaned in closer, eyes narrowing to killing slits. “It would not be so easy,” he grunted with defiance. “I am not sick, or old, Shepard. Even you would have to work for it.”</p><p>Her expression softened, ever so slightly. “You aren’t sick,” she agreed, “but you <em> are </em> old.” She motioned to his now-empty drink. “How hard is the hangover going to hit you now that you’re past 700?”</p><p>The ghost of a smile. Wrex’s eyes unfocused, only slightly. “So what? I’m as strong as I ever was. I haven’t lost a step. I have no significant injuries. No whelp has risen to the challenge of taking my place, not even the tank-bred. I am the strongest of Clan Urdnot. The wisest, the longest-lived.” He pounded a plated fist on the bartop, cracking the plexiglass slightly. “Dammit, Shepard. This is what I was <em> born </em> to do. And you dare try to take it from me?</p><p>“You, of all people?” A stubby finger thrust into her shoulder. It took a subtle shift in weight, a swift re-positioning of her back foot, to keep the krogan’s ‘gentle’ poke from sending her reeling. “You, a twice-dead relic of this never-ending war? You, who insists on throwing her mangled form into the breach, time and time again, for the glory of your so-called Federated Republic? You have the audacity to tell <em> me </em> it is time to step down?</p><p>“<em> Dammit </em>, Shepard,” Wrex thundered again. He slammed his fist into the bartop and his empty glass disintegrated into glass fragments and powder. A frustrated, slightly pained expression crossed his eyes and he looked at his hand, embedded with fragments of glass and dripping blood. The tiny pink umbrella lay in the center of a very small crater, snapped in two.</p><p>Both sets of eyes stared at the umbrella for a long, tense moment. Wrex’s shoulders moved strangely. Seconds ticked by in silence. Finally, Shepard realized he was holding in laughter, and a smile sprang unbidden to her lips. She snorted, and the krogan whirled on her, indignant at first, but soon dissolving into wheezing laughter of his own. They both shook in silence with the absurdity of it all. Something very close to relief flooded through the knots and tension in Shepard’s shoulders.</p><p>“What would I do, retired?” Wrex asked quietly, after their laughter subsided. “What good would I be? Just another relic of war, another mouldering old fossil clinging to a past glory. Half-drunk all day on ryncol, boasting of past battles to anyone who’ll listen.” He snarled. “What good am I, if not for this, Shepard?”</p><p>“Be a <em> father, </em>” Shepard hissed, the venom in her voice surprising them both. “Raise your children. Raise them to be strong, and brave, and wise, like you. Be present in their lives. Be an example for the next generation of krogan, the generation we bled for for all those years. Be the father that you and I didn’t have. Be the father that I didn’t have the chance to-” she trailed off, the forcefulness giving way to bitterness.</p><p>After a moment, Wrex rested a massive, armor-plated hand on her shoulder and gave her a shockingly gentle squeeze. “If anyone could have made it out of there,” he rumbled quietly. “If anyone could have found a way to keep on going all these years, it’s her. Smart kid, and tougher than I ever gave her credit for.” Wrex patted her, a little more roughly. “After all, she’s a quarter krogan.”</p><p>Shepard let out a deeply-held breath. Her hands found her drink, as much to keep them occupied as anything. “Yeah,” she managed.</p><p>They stood in silence for a long time. Finally, Wrex spoke up again. “Do you really think this Federated Republic bullshit… do you really think this is what the galaxy needs?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Shepard admitted. “But I know we’re lost if we don’t work together. There’s not enough of <em> any </em> of us to stand alone.” She went to take a sip of her drink, found it empty, held onto it anyways. “It will take decades, maybe centuries, to fix the relays. We can barely talk to each other across Sol, let alone the galaxy. We don’t have enough ships, here, enough eezo, enough resources to feed the survivors of all the fleets. We need to do better than just re-building - we need to start finding the people we’ve lost, out there. Do they even know we’ve won, on Palaven? On Tuchanka? On Thessia?”</p><p>“Did we? Win, I mean.” Wrex shook his head. “Did we win, or did we just survive?”</p><p>Shepard barked a mirthless laugh. “That’s above my paygrade.”</p><p>“I don’t know, Shepard. I just don’t know.” The krogan shook his massive, armored head. “I don’t know how to do anything but fight.”</p><p>“You’re a <em> leader </em>, Wrex,” she countered. “On Tuchanka, you united every Clan under Urdnot. You negotiated with turian Primarchs and salarian Dalatrasses and human Admirals. You stood side by side with the galaxy to help bring down the Reapers. You won a future for your people, ended the genophage.</p><p>“And now you have an opportunity to enjoy the fruits of that fight! You can step back, you can let the burden of command go to another. You don’t <em> have </em> to go out on your shield. You can live out the rest of your days, teaching krogan children there’s a better way than dying for what you believe in - that you can <em> live </em> for it, too.”</p><p>Wrex chewed on his bottom lip. “And yet, Shepard. And yet… here you are, with the same opportunity, out looking for another fight, another war. If retirement is good enough for Urdnot Wrex - why isn’t it good enough for Commander Shepard?”</p><p>“Vice Admiral Shepard,” she corrected with a bitter twinge.</p><p>“Answer the question, Vice Admiral,” the big krogan thundered. “If our positions were reversed. If you could retire, today, take a ship anywhere in the galaxy and live on a damned pyjak farm, or whatever… could you do it? Could <em> you </em> put down the rifle and take up the plow? Could you so easily quench the fire in your spirit? The warrior’s fury that burns in your blood, as it does mine? You, who carved a bloody path of destiny through the stars. Could <em> you </em> sit still, and await death, instead of seeking it out?”</p><p><em> “If this all ends tomorrow… what happens to us?”<br/>
</em>“Marriage, old age, and a lot of little blue children,” she whispered under her breath.</p><p>“What?”<br/>
“Nothing.” She shook herself, pushed herself up from leaning against the bar, meeting his probing eyes with a tired gaze. “What I want most of all, Wrex, is a galaxy that doesn’t want or need a Vice Admiral Shepard anymore. Does that answer your question?”</p><p>The old krogan was silent for a time. “In more ways than you think, old friend,” he growled gently, a note of sadness in his voice. “In more ways than you think.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“-if they break formation, they’re a Unionist. If they hold rank, they’re a well-disciplined Unionist!”</p><p>Sardonic laughter echoed through the command deck; mandible-clacking turian chuckles mingling with the oxygenated wheeze of a volus’ guffaw and the slight feedback buzz emanating from quarian livesuits. The joke-teller was a young quarian. <em> Fahu'Yarol? I think? Ensign? </em> Shepard thought about saying something, but forced the junior officer out of her mind for the moment. There was another quarian talking to her at present. Unfortunately, she was using different words to say much of the same thing.</p><p>“... second debris-field we’ve found in this cluster in two weeks,” Captain Soru'Nal vas Moreh was saying, quick fingers flicking through holo-screens on the bridge’s main display until she found the image she was looking for. “Accelerator weapon discharges, drive core vent-dust. This here looks like it might have been a fighter-craft. Turian, I think. Armax Tusk, model T-51?”</p><p>“Not a current design,” Shepard agreed. “Decommissioned model, out in this sector of space… most likely military salvage. Private contractor, or a mercenary.” She peered at the fuzzy, partially-rendered images. “Or maybe Attican Union, but I don’t see any sunbursts on the wing...”</p><p>“Unionist, mercenary, what’s the difference?” Soru shrugged.</p><p>“Your ensign beat you to the joke,” Shepard said dryly.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing.” She leaned back. “Pirate or mercenary, most likely. There’s enough ‘toys’ from the Reaper War lying about, just waiting for someone to pick up and dust off. I’m sure this one thought they could make a living leeching off the rest of us, trying to rebuild.”</p><p>Soru folded her arms. “So what killed it?”</p><p>“If I had to guess…” Shepard flicked through the scans. “... Cruiser-class. This gas giant, right here? Cruiser, venting their drive cores before slingshotting around the gravitational pull to jump-start FTL. This is a central system, no terrestrial worlds, not too much chance of bumping into anyone while you’re vulnerable, going through a drive change.</p><p>“Now, if I’m a pirate, I’m waiting… here!” She double-tapped one of the images, magnifying it. “Right here. Low orbit on this… is this a moon? Maybe a destroyed refuelling station. There’s enough between here and there to break up your ladar silhouette. And the teeth of the sun are in their eyes. Masks you from visual confirmation. Patient enough hunter…” She rubbed her chin, contemplating. “You sit here, like a lioness watching a watering-hole. This is prime real-estate. The prey comes to you. Come out fast and low, along this drift, and you aren’t spotted on scanners or visuals until your main guns are in range, and if you’re good you can pull two strafing runs before a bigger vessel can bring their broadsides to bear. GARDIANs can’t track you in the debris field, and with them venting core you can hit engines, life support… doesn’t matter how big they are, how thick that hull is or how many barriers they have. You hit it fast and hard, here and here? They’re dead in orbit, they just don’t know it yet.</p><p>“But look at where they died, here,” she brought up the scan with the derelict fighter again. “Amateur. Went for the eyes instead of the belly. Probably didn’t wait for them to finish venting, just hit the afterburners and tried to strafe the bridge. Lined themselves right up for the main accelerator, GARDIAN did the rest. That’s the kill shot,” she indicated a gaping hole through the fuselage of the fighter. “Hydrostatic shock from a cruiser-class accelerator is lethal at twenty paces. Single-cockpit fighter craft? No chance. Would have turned them into a puddle in their flight suit.” She shook her head, softly. “Hell of a way to go.”</p><p>Shepard realized the command deck had gone silent. The bridge crew was staring at her, soundlessly. Two turian under-officers watched her with slack-mandibled admiration. From the quarians, the weight of their gazes felt more like respect mingled with an existential dread. “You can read all that from a few deep-space scans?” one of the quarians stammered. “Were you a fighter pilot, too? Ma’am,” she added tremulously.</p><p>She studied the quarian. She sounded young, and her livesuit looked on the newer side. Dark purple, with silver bands at the wrists, elbows, ankles and neck. An elongated faceplate with a blue-and-gold shroud. What looked strangely like silver hoop earrings, dangling under her shroud. “What’s your name… Ensign?”</p><p>The quarian stood straighter. “Communications officer Waese'Laaris, ma’am. Waese'Laaris nar Alarei.”</p><p>A small smile played on Shepard’s lips. “‘After time adrift among open stars, along tides of light and through shoals of dust, I will return to where I began,’” she quoted softly. A surprised murmur rippled through the quarians. “I was born on a ship, communications officer Waese'Laaris nar Alarei, and most of my active duty service with the Alliance was spent patrolling the Traverse. I’m no pilot… but I’ve been in enough high-orbit engagements, been around enough fighter-jockeys to know how they think.”</p><p>“Communications officer,” Soru interjected smoothly after a moment’s pause, “Send a relay drone back to Republic space. Suspected pirate activity, Nimah cluster, Damkiannah high orbit. Telemetry…” the quarian Captain glanced toward Shepard, “... and expert opinion suggests Attican Union cruiser-strength presence. Tell them we’re holding position in expectation of clarification of orders.”</p><p>“Aye aye, ma’am,” Waese saluted, scrambling back to her console. The other bridge officers, suddenly desperate to avoid Captain Soru’s gaze, searched for things to do.</p><p>“Helms officer,” Soru continued. “Bring us over to that debris field. Sublight thrusters only, kinetic barriers and GARDIAN primed. Put us between the sun and the gas giant. Keep the drift to fifteen-hundred-k.”</p><p>“Should have left out the part about the cruiser,” Shepard murmured quietly as the bridge crew spiralled into a flurry of activity. “The Board will want us to pursue.”</p><p>“Maybe we should,” Soru’s voice was clipped, curt. “We have colonies out here, just as they do. An un-tagged Unionist cruiser is a knife at our throats.”</p><p>“No Unionist ship has ever <em> once </em>attacked a Federated Republic colony. You know that, Captain,” Shepard sighed.</p><p>“No Unionist ship flying its own flag,” Soru countered. “Like you said. Enough ‘toys’ from the Reaper War, just lying around, waiting to be picked up. It was enough when the colonies had defense cannons, militias. Now these Unionists have their own fleet? I don’t trust it.”</p><p>“These people just want to be left alone, Captain.” Shepard’s voice was strained, tired. “We abandoned them in the war, left them to wither on the vine, and now we march into the Traverse a decade later to hold a knife to their throat and demand the colonies they’ve built? The materials they’ve scavenged? Demand they enlist in our armies, so we can send them off to die out there, so the Admiralty Board can stick a Republic flag on what’s left of Palaven?”</p><p>The Captain and the Spectre were silent for a moment, watching as the stars streamed past the Moreh. Soru folded her arms, finally glancing upward at Shepard. “From the mouth of the woman who built the Republic, herself. You are full of surprises, Vice Admiral.”</p><p>“Agent,” she corrected her gently. “I’m just a Spectre, now, Captain.”</p><p>“‘Just a Spectre,’” Soru mimicked, but with a note of quiet admiration. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><em> These windows are far too large, </em> Shepard thought, staring down at the glittering blue water and green gardens of the Presidium below from a lofty penthouse spire. The sitting-room looked as if it had been taken from, or perhaps used as a movie set: stark white walls, furniture, soft lighting so reminiscent of candlelight, an almost-real fire crackling on a vid-screen installed into a marble ‘fireplace.’ One entire wall had been replaced by a floor-to-ceiling window. Luxury skycars zipped past, silhouetted by the artificial twilight, that ‘golden hour’ between midday and dusk that bathed the cityscape in a shimmering, ethereal glow, cunningly maintained by some of the most brilliant aesthetic minds ever produced in the galaxy. It was unnaturally beautiful, but Shepard had never allowed herself to be seduced by it, had never allowed herself to trust this carefully cultivated and calculated bubble of grandeur and opulence, here at what many considered to be the pinnacle of galactic civilization. Mostly, she just felt naked, exposed, and for more reasons than just being out of armor, and - save for a very small, concealed pistol strapped to her inner thigh - unarmed.</p><p>“Thank you for meeting me, tonight,” a soft voice murmured behind her, and she turned with only a slight start. Matriarch Tevos emerged from a white marble kitchen larger than any home Shepard had ever had, a fluted crystalline glass in each hand and a warm smile on her face. The asari Councillor - <em> ex-Councillor, </em> Shepard reminded herself - looked undeniably radiant, her clan-markings fresh upon her face in white chalk-paint that looked expensive and professionally-matched to her violet complexion. One full upper lip had been drawn in white, and a vertical band drawn straight down her chin gave her a sensual, pouty look. Her gown covered her from neck to ankle and yet somehow made her seem as if she were clad in mist and starlight; a wispy, diaphanous veil that shimmered like a nebulae as she crossed the floor, smoky grey eyes unblinking as took in Shepard’s modest, high-collared sleeveless black dress.</p><p><em> This was a mistake, </em> Shepard thought immediately, a mistake her churning insides demand she continue to make, a mistake she wanted nothing more to dive head-first into. Tevos’ mouth was moving, but Shepard couldn’t focus on the words. </p><p>“... found more permanent accommodations, yet?”</p><p>“Hmm?” She winced, awkwardly. “I’m… sorry.”</p><p>“Not at all,” Tevos laughed. It was like fingers brushing silver harpstrings. “I asked you if you had found a place to stay on the Citadel, yet. I had heard you were still shuttling out to the fleet, every night.”</p><p>“Oh. Yes.” She took the fluted glass from Tevos, grateful for something to do with her hands, a surge rushing through her when the asari’s fingers lightly brushed her own. “I’m billeted on the Beirut. They were going to turn out the poor XO, give me his quarters, but I’m fine hot-bunking with the enlisted crew.”</p><p>“I’m sure we could find you somewhere more… suited, to your accomplishments,” Tevos murmured demurely.</p><p>Shepard’s cheeks got hot. “It’s fine, but thank you,” she managed. “I was born and raised on starships. I sleep better at night with the hum of a drive-core in my ears.”</p><p>“Mmm,” her asari host favored her with a small smile. “Vice Admiral Shepard… might I call you Sybilla?”</p><p>
  <em> “I love you, Sybilla. You and none other.” </em>
</p><p>A wave of ice crashed through her center. “Billie, please,” she suppressed a spiralling, sickening feeling in her gut. “Only my mother calls me ‘Sybilla.’” <em> And Liara, </em> a voice inside of her screamed. <em> And Liara. </em></p><p>“Billie, then,” Tevos savored the name. “I would be pleased if you were to call me Aeava.”</p><p>Her mind raced, fumbled, grasped in the dark for a way to defuse the ticking time bomb she had found herself standing next to. Smiling weakly, she raised her glass. “Aeava, then. Here’s to the rebuild… and to the view.”</p><p>“A fine toast,” the asari glowed. They both drank; Shepard could feel the room-temperature liquid trail frozen fire down her throat and into her core.</p><p>“Serrice,” she whistled appreciatively. “Irssal and isthir-berry. This is the… 2165? Eailsawood, double cask.”</p><p>Tevos’ smile broadened. “You <em> are </em> good, Billie. I had heard your nose for asari brandy was refined. You are oh so close.” Her smile took on a mischievous note. “This is a ‘35, though, not a ‘65.”</p><p>Shepard blinked slowly and let out another low whistle. “Older than I am.”</p><p>Tevos laughed lightly and strode away from the window, taking a seat on a long, low white leather couch. She stretched out like a cat, wiggling slightly against what were undoubtedly luxuriously soft cushions, and patted the seat beside her. “I am pleased you are enjoying yourself. I do not think we have ever had more than tense moments as Councillor and Spectre to share between us. It is nice to see another side of you.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Shepard winced awkwardly again as she walked woodenly over, barely trusting herself to sit next to the lovely creature on the couch but doing so anyways. She sat, straight-backed, holding her drink in both hands. “I uh. I’m sorry for hanging up on yo-” She coughed. “on the Council,” she corrected.</p><p>“That was a long time ago,” Tevos shrugged expressively. It was a gesture worth watching and, much like staring at the sun, one Shepard didn’t dare to do out of more than the corner of one eye. “And I seem to recall, our own conduct towards you was scarcely what one might describe as… warm.”</p><p>Shepard took another drink, to mask the expression spreading across her face, and the longing spreading across the rest of her. "Like you said, it was a long time ago."</p><p>Tevos delicately set her glass down and leaned back. One hand snaked out, a single finger tracing the lines of Shepard’s well-toned arms. Her touch was electrifying, sending what felt like every hair on her body on end. “I know it is customary among some humans to tattoo their cultural symbols upon their skin. Much like turians, or even we asari with our Clan markings.” Her finger continued to draw lines up her skin, sending pulses of lightning through the middle of her. “Are these markings significant, to your people?”</p><p>“Um, no,” Shepard admitted, doing her best to keep her breathing under control. “Some… humans use tattoos to remind us of Earth, our homes, our cultures, yes - but most of these are just… things I like.” She indicated to the climbing roses and lemon branches trailing up her left sleeve. “When I was very young, my mother had her first XO posting. The SSV Nairobi. They were conducting patrols on the batarian border, high danger posting, so I couldn’t come. She sent me to live with my father for a short while... Ramallah, on Earth. It was the longest I’ve ever been in one place, on solid ground.” A fleeting smile crossed her face. “At first I hated it. The sun was too bright, the air made me sneeze. I couldn’t understand why the sky stayed the same, night after night.</p><p>“I would lie in the dirt in the small yard beside my father’s house, in the shade of a lemon tree. He had climbing roses growing up the wall, outside. You could smell the from the kitchen. I remember the vines, growing right into the clay walls of the old building. Little birds would root through the vines, looking for fat honeybees to eat while they pollinated the rose blossoms. I would eat dates and stare up at the sky, wishing I could be up there, with my mother.”</p><p>“Mmm,” Tevos murmured. “And this is the Normandy, of course,” she indicated to the ship profile on Shepard’s inner right forearm, leaning closer. Her hand closed over Shepard’s wrist as she twisted her arm to get a better look. Another jolt of electricity raced through her, this one starting at her collarbone and shooting straight downward.</p><p>“Kaidan - Major Alenko - and Ash and I all got matching, our first time on the Citadel,” she breathed. “Kaidan had never gotten a tattoo. Ash had ‘procured’ a bottle of Canadian whiskey from somewhere. I kept splashing it in his face.” She was cognizant of her breast rising and falling swiftly, and of Tevos’ grey eyes watching it do so.</p><p>“And these..?” A long finger gently stroked circles around her elbow. Shepard could feel it up her spine. Her veins felt like they were pumping liquid gold.</p><p>“Compass… rose,” she inhaled sharply. “Ancient, pre-spaceflight… human ships used to… use them to navigate. On the water I mean, not… in the sky.”</p><p>“And what of these?” Tevos’ breath was hot against Shepard’s neck. Her fingers were tracing twin patches of blue ink, just hidden under the neckline of her dress. Her palms hovered just over her breasts, thumbs brushing against the fabric ever so slightly.</p><p>“Swallows,” she gulped. “Little… little Earth birds. An old navy tradition. It used to mean… you’d traveled a long distance.”</p><p>“Billie,” Tevos whispered. Her eyes were moonlight in a reflective pool; so cool and dark and inviting. Shepard could feel herself drawn into them, that tidal pull dragging her down deep into those depths. Her name on Tevos’ tongue, murmured in that velvet voice, was like fire in her belly, kindling a fire in her that hadn’t been stoked in years.</p><p>Tevos’ hands closed around Shepard’s collar. That warmth, the familiarity of that touch, was a thrill. Her body strained for those long, sure fingers to grasp her, to feel that satin skin pressed against hers, feel that hot breath against her neck, taste the irssal and isthir-berry from the brandy on those full lips. “May I kiss you?”</p><p><em> “I love you, Little Wing.”<br/>
</em> <em>“Show me.”</em></p><p>Shepard exhaled tremulously. Her own hands closed in over Tevos’, squeezed that soft flesh gently, even more gently unclasped them from her collar. When she could bring herself to meet the asari’s gaze, Shepard’s eyes were liquid with hurt and sorrow and frustration. Her heart thundered, hammered, threatened to burst. Her thighs clenched and unclenched. Her body ached, quivered.</p><p> “I… can’t, Aeava.” She let out another shaky breath. “You are so lovely, and so kind, and...” She shook her head. “And you deserve someone better than a broken-down soldier. I can’t… I can’t be who you need me to be, and you can’t be...”</p><p>It was Tevos’ turn to let out an unsteady breath. She chewed on her bottom lip, her own eyes filling with hurt, as well. “With the lights out, we can be <em> whoever </em> the other needs us to be. I could be your Liara, Billie, and you could be my Daina.” Her voice took on a low, throaty, urgent growl. “Would it be so terrible, Billie, for two grieving souls to take some comfort in each other’s bodies, for one night?” She untangled one of her hands from Shepard’s, and stroked the human’s twitching cheek. “Would it be so awful of you to do something <em> you </em> wanted, for a change? Find a little happiness, amidst so much pain and heartbreak?” She leaned in closer, their foreheads touching, her voice breathless. “No-one would ever question your commitment to your bondmate. No-one would ever even have to know.”</p><p>“I would know,” Shepard sighed.</p><p>Tevos closed her eyes. They sat there in silence, foreheads touching, breathing in each other’s scent for what seemed like hours. Shepard could feel warm tears running down her cheeks. She sat rock-still, trying to keep her shoulders from shaking. After a long, long time, she felt Tevos’ hands release hers, slowly. The asari planted a chaste, gentle kiss on her cheek. When Shepard opened her own eyes, she saw Tevos’ fixated on hers, grey and liquid.</p><p>“Goddess,” the Matriarch laughed bitterly. “Of all the beautiful women I could have sought a discreet affair with, I would choose to seek out a truly honourable one.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t have come,” Shepard winced, wiping her face. “I knew it was a mistake. But it was a mistake I really, really, <em> really  </em>wanted to make. It has been,” her hands reclaimed her drink, and she drained what was left. “It has been a long, long time.”</p><p>“I had heard rumors you were somewhat… free… with your affections, before the War,” Tevos admitted. “Particularly during your time in the Valkyrie Program. And yes,” a flash of amusement crossed her somber face. “I read your file.”</p><p>“I was eighteen, and just beginning to understand and accept myself, sexually, and my government sent me to an idyllic garden-world of beautiful, feminine aliens, halfway across the galaxy,” Shepard said flatly. “Not that I’m complaining… but Alliance brass <em> really </em> should have thought that one through a little more.” She laughed in spite of herself. After a moment, Tevos joined in. It was soft, like tinkling wind chimes, tinged with a note of sadness.</p><p>“I am sorry, Billie,” Tevos whispered. “This was… wrong of me.”</p><p>“I’m sorry I can’t… I can’t be your Daina,” Shepard said slowly. “I can be your friend, Aeava, but I can’t be more than that.”</p><p>“I am nearly 1,000 and my bondmate is dead. My race stands at the precipice of annihilation. My bed is empty. A <em> friend </em> is not what I need right now.” The asari stood suddenly, crossing the room to the window in three swift strides, back straight, shoulders high. She stood at the window, imperious and sad and beautiful and very, very alone. It folded Shepard like a blow to the gut. Feeling suddenly very old, very tired, she set her empty glass down and rose to leave.</p><p>“Shepard.”</p><p>Shepard turned, just as she was reaching for the door. Found Tevos’ eyes boring into her. The asari was chewing her bottom lip again. In the shimmering glow of the artificial, perpetual ‘golden hour’ outside, every curve silhouetted, she looked like some asari love goddess made flesh. The dull pang in her chest and the heat at the bottom of her belly both screamed at her to sweep her up in her arms, to crush her against her, crush her lips against her, lose herself in the asari’s soft, blue skin. But in her mind it wasn’t Tevos’ supple body grinding against her thigh, wasn’t Tevos’ full lips she bit in the throes of their passion, wasn’t Tevos’ grey eyes fading to black as their minds and bodies melded into one glowing, writhing shape. In her mind, the asari in her arms was slightly shorter, slightly curvier, her eyes blue like the Earth from high orbit, her voice low and husky in Shepard’s ear, whispering her name, her secret name, the name only she called her, crying it out softly in the night as their legs entwined, as her calloused hands wound through Shepard’s hair, as her tongue found the hollow in Shepard’s throat, as she squeezed her from without and within as they shuddered and panted and heaved against each other.</p><p>She realized she was breathing heavily, her hands balled into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. She forced herself to banish the images she so desperately wanted to lose herself into, and stare back into Tevos’ eyes.</p><p>“Just because a friend isn’t what I need tonight, does not mean a friend isn’t what I’ll need tomorrow,” she whispered. “Might we… try this again another time?”</p><p>Shepard could only nod, mutely. She felt filthy, felt tired, felt like dissolving into a pile of her own sorrows and tears, felt like hitting something, killing something. Felt like doing something, <em> anything </em> , to stop herself from feeling the creeping emptiness that threatened to devour her. The elevator ride out of Tevos’ building was an eternity, the quiet shuttle ride back out to the Beirut even longer. The hum of the dreadnought’s drive core, the quiet echoes of the metal deck beneath her feet, the ever-present buzz of activity <em> somewhere </em> within the iron leviathan she swam through were scant comfort. She found a bottle of an indifferent brown liquor somewhere, and proceeded to drink and drink until she couldn’t feel anything, anymore, and slept.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Steady Hands, True Aim, Swift Feet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The crisp, clear morning rang out with the sound of plucked harpstrings.</p><p>A cool, gentle wind tugged playfully on the curtains that separated the terrace from the sitting-room. Sunlight trickled in through the opened double doors, throwing the dancing shadows of isthir boughs onto the cold floor. Thrush-tailed avians chattered in the low season air. A laughter like chiming bells rang out, accompanying the ringing of golden notes.</p><p>Saith T’Nere shrugged a shift over her shoulders and stepped quietly onto the terrace, wishing for warm slippers on her bare feet, violet-flecked eyes blinking as they adjusted to the sunlight. The sun was just cresting over the snow-topped peaks of the Seyxethea, framing a sky as clear and blue as the shallows of an Armali lake. Saith’s breath was a puff of vapor as it passed her lips, dissipated into the cloudless air. She hugged herself, a smile welling up in her.</p><p>On the far end of the terrace a petite, elegant form sat straight-backed, the delicate swell of her crest like a wave in a calm sea. Clad only in the dappled sunlight, her skin was the vibrant amethyst of a sapphire-studded nebula, and through her eyes were closed in concentration, Saith knew they twinkled like the stars around Parnitha. The asari’s lips moved silently as she mouthed the words to the melody she strummed on her harp. Long fingers, so delicate and strong and certain in their movements, plucked at strings so gossamer they might have been wisps of cloud. The sound was like the wind rippling through high grass in the valleys before a storm, was like the burbling of a swift-flowing brook, a rising, swelling crescendo, a tidal pull that crashed over Saith like a wave, before receding.</p><p>Saith’s applause as the melody faded gave the other asari a start. A bluish blush crept up her collarbone. She crossed her legs, folding her arms under her breasts, and favored her bondmate with an impertinent look. “How long have you been up? I was trying to let you rest.”</p><p>“By throwing the doors open and playing your harp?” Saith let out a throaty chuckle. “Yes, love, you embody the soul of quiet and restfulness.”</p><p>“<em> I </em> have to practice for my recital next week,” came the mock indignant reply. “Not all of us are so lucky to be on shore leave. You should be so lucky I did not wake you with the dawn. And,” she arched an eyebrow. “I see you have not even had the decency to put the kettle on.”</p><p>“By the Goddess,” Saith groaned. “Were you born this difficult, Ranlise Hezor, or do you study <em> that </em> at the University, as well?”</p><p>“Difficult? I will <em> show </em> you difficult,” she growled playfully, setting the harp down and crossing the terrace towards her bondmate at a sprint. Saith let out a shrieking giggle as the smaller asari bounded into her arms, bowling her over. A lavender haze of biotic energy enveloped both women as they writhed and curled around each other. Saith grunted, slipped an arm just so, hooked a leg around Ranlise’s waist, and twisted. Her partner squeaked as she was flipped neatly, but gently, on her back, Saith leveraging her length to pin her arms above her head. Ranlise struggled vainly, the blush spreading from the tops of her breast up her neck and chin.</p><p>“What was that, love?” Saith leered, her nose an inch from her bondmate’s, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. “I believe you were attempting to ‘show me’ something?”</p><p>Ranlise blew hot air in Saith’s face. “You win,” she murmured, eyes coy. “I am your captive, brute.” She threw her head back, theatrically. “Do with me as you wish.”</p><p>“As I wish, hmmm?” She shifted her weight ever so slightly, keeping the smaller asari’s arms pinned as her own hand roamed downwards, trailing with torturous deliberateness along the outline of her hip to the inside of her thigh. “Whatever shall I do with such… treasures, to plunder?”</p><p>Ranlise shuddered, eyes closing in rapture as her tongue ran across her lips. “Mmmm. I have.. Some suggestions…”</p><p>Saith leaned in closer, nipping lightly at the folds in her lover’s neck. Her mouth hovered by the base of her jaw. Her eyes slid from flecked violet to black, as the universe faded away around them, until there was just the two of them, until their pounding heartbeats and shuddering gasps merged as one. Until the soft warmth of their skin pressed together merged as one. Saith reached out into her lover’s mind, as ‘Saith’ and ‘Ranlise’ because a meaningless distinction, as mind and body and heart and soul entwined.</p><p><em> Show me, </em> she whispered into the void.</p><p>The sound of silver harpstrings plucked her out of her reverie.</p><p>Saith T’Nere groaned in pent-up frustration as she disengaged herself from her pillow, tousled sheets wrapped around her bare legs. The flashing alarm pulsed a blinking light through the fog of her very, <em> very </em> pleasant dream, bringing her unsatisfied into an unsatisfying reality. She could still feel that cruel, directionless warmth pulsing through her, could still feel the quiver, the ache of her body’s need for her Ranlise’s skin against her. Stumbling from the bed, she cupped her hands into the empty basin until ice water trickled out of the faucet and against her indigo skin. Splashing a double handful into her face until the shocking cold quenching her fire, she let out a frustrated, mournful groan.</p><p>“Couldn’t have let me had a few more minutes, could you,” she muttered. “Goddess…”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Heart pounding, T’Nere sucked in a quick breath before launching herself forward, bringing both arms up, fists entwined. A boiling lavender light enveloped her hands as an electrical surge of biotic strength flowed through her, the weight of her limbs and the soreness of her bruises fading into the backdrop as she became one with the calm center within, one with the storm that raged around her. Her arms upraised was a feint; as she reached the apex of her leap that same boiling, churning energy field swirled around her knee as she came streaking downwards like a thunderbolt, form flowing seamlessly from <em> Thrush in the Reeds </em> to <em> Red Star Falls </em>. She was a bird in flight, the crashing of a waterfall, sunlight on the edge of a thrusting blade. She barely registered the blossom of her knee impacting into the deck, barely registered the triple-reinforced starship-grade steel denting like a cheap toy. Her every fiber was focused on the feral shape before her, loping seemingly effortlessly just out of the path of her flying knee before just as abruptly reversing direction and momentum to launch yet another flurry of blows in her direction.</p><p>T’Nere grunted as the low kick slammed into her forearms, snapped from an angle that while technically possible for an asari, shouldn’t have been for a human, with the kind of kinetic force that made the asari wonder if her sparring partner’s augmetics didn’t include some kind of hydraulic press in her thighs. <em> Goddess, she’s fast, </em> she barely had time to think, as the sweeping kick was followed up with a brutal overhand right that was certainly one hundred percent Alliance close-quarters technique. <em> That, or something she learned from a krogan, </em> she thought as she somewhat desperately swept the punch aside, threw <em> Maiden’s Dagger </em> towards the human’s exposed throat. Her knife-handed strike was almost contemptuously battered aside, and T’Nere threw herself backwards before this infuriatingly tireless wolf-woman could punish her with yet another flurry of blows.</p><p>Sucking in more air, the asari circled, bare legs flashing as she threw <em> Wind Shakes the Boughs </em> again and again at the human’s head, as much to maintain separation and buy her a little time to catch her breath. It was like trying to catch smoke with a net. Her opponent bobbed and weaved like a dragonfly, her clipped, jarring movements inelegant perhaps by asari standards, but brutally quick and efficient. She had expected arrogance from this human, had expected insolence, even good-natured chatter as they leveled bone-breaking force at each other in the close confines of the ring they had drawn. But there was nothing but a hunting hawk’s razor focus, a piercing, born predator’s gaze guided by evolution as much as training to freeze up her prey, to trap them ‘like a deer in headlights,’ to use the human expression. T’Nere was a fighter, a warrior, a commando with two centuries of combat experience, a justifiably confident and cool-headed veteran soldier. But this woman, this <em> weapon </em>, was a killer born and bred, a tawny lioness, a dark shape of lean muscle and deadly intellect. Saith T’Nere had never met a being that could have killed her so effortlessly, so readily, at any time of her choosing, and her warrior’s blood sang with the thrill of their dance.</p><p>Her breathing tore out of her lips in ragged gasps as she span backwards from her last kick. She bent, ever so slightly, as if she had twinged something in the throw, tearing her eyes from the human’s cutting green gaze, keeping them rooted on her bare feet against the deck. It was a target she knew her opponent couldn’t and wouldn’t pass up. She coiled tightly as a spring, feigning distress, like a colt with a sprained hoof lurking too near a watering-hole, too far from the protection of its parents. The human didn’t disappoint. T’Nere saw her feet flash towards her, saw that big, loping overhand right raise up, ready to come crashing down with the destructive force of an avalanche. She snapped her own weight forward, her hips and thighs churning muscle and momentum outward and upward like a mass accelerator cannon, felt a titanic surge of biotic energy rip through her adrenaline-fuelled veins like a breakwater rapids as she threw every last ounce of energy into <em> Empty Palm Shakes the Foundation of Heaven </em>.</p><p>Felt a moment’s confusion when her palm-strike flailed harmlessly past, as a knee in the back of her thigh neatly swept her off her feet. First gravity, then her opponent seized her, and she had a second to recognize that her left leg and right arm were held in a powerful grip before there was air rushing past her cheek and the deck rushing up to greet her exposed back, the weight of both her and the human driving the air from her lungs as she was slammed downward hard enough for black and white spots to swim past her vision.</p><p>T’Nere let herself go slack, wheezing only slightly as she caught her breath at last. “That,” she grumbled, “was hardly necessary.”</p><p>“Necessary?” Shepard barked a laugh as she stripped off her padded gloves and let them fall to the deck. She didn’t even have the good graces to be breathing heavily. “<em> Empty Palm Shakes the Foundation of Heaven </em>, T’Nere, really? Are you trying to breach the hull?”</p><p>The tawny human stretched a tattooed arm out. After a moment, T’Nere grabbed it, allowed herself to be pulled upwards. “You’ve been spaced before,” she said evenly. “I reasoned it might slow you down long enough for me to actually land a strike.”</p><p>“Har har,” Shepard rolled her eyes. She thrust a water-bottle towards her sparring partner, splashing cold liquid onto her own face, soaking the hem of her athletic top. T’Nere followed suit, gulping water down thirstily as the singing in her nerves began to subside. The human was already launching herself into a series of aggressive stretches, bends, and dips. It was as if they hadn’t just spent nearly an hour trying to kill each other with biotics and bare hands.</p><p>Exhaling long and evenly from her mouth, T’Nere knelt, bringing her hands together to form a triangle as she slipped into Matriarch’s Pose and re-sought the calm center within. Flashes of their sparring match played idly about in her mind as she brought her breathing and her pulse under control. She was no drell, could not summon up with perfect clarity an image of their battle to analyze and dissect, but two hundred years’ worth of martial training allowed her some measure of introspection of her and her opponent’s technique.</p><p>She was more technically proficient than Shepard was, she was certain. At asekazea, the ancient asari ritual dance forms that had evolved over time into a killing art, she had been recognized as a master, near-peerless among her own kind. She reviewed her own form in her mind’s eye as she winged her arms upward, bending until her torso was between her thighs, the pain and soreness of her fighting injuries washing away as the more pleasant pressure of the stretch washed over her. Her technique had been flawless, she decided. Even the hastily-thrown <em> Maiden’s Dagger </em> without a fully-extended arm was as perfectly cast as any asari asekazea-master could have. She had snapped a batarian pirate’s neck with that knife-hand, once, she recalled, a vision of the Blue Sun captain’s four eyes all bulging at her simultaneously as he shuddered and collapsed like a marionette with the strings cut.</p><p>She was also, she reasoned with more than a little private satisfaction, slightly quicker than Shepard, and more flexible, but only just. <em> Maybe a little more than ‘just’ </em>, she thought, suppressing a smirk as she glanced over sideways and saw the human work through her own routine of asari yoga poses. Her Kurinth’s Bow was deep, but even this human at the peak of her physical capabilities, with Goddess-knows what kind of illegal and experimental augmentations done to her, couldn’t perfectly mimic the crescent curve of the Huntress-Goddess’ form.</p><p>No, T’Nere decided, her weakness had not been her technique. Nor was it that the human was much stronger than her, and nearly as quick; she had fought and killed turians with more than Shepard’s reach, batarians with greater endurance, krogans with twice her vaunted power. As she replayed the fight in her mind’s eye over and over, she came to the quiet realization that no edge in experience she possessed would have been enough, no technique sufficient, no advantage in speed enough to overcome the simple fact that the human’s analytical mind for violence was seemingly unmatched. Every feint T’Nere had attempted was dissected, seen though, every strike she had thrown brutally calculated, measured, neutralized. She was an artist on a blood-soaked canvas, a conductor of a deadly orchestra, every part of her in some way lethal. Shepard fought like a starship flew, like a harp sang; with the breathtakingly efficient and beautiful motion of something honed, refined, <em> perfected, </em> for a singular task. </p><p>It was almost strange, incongruous then, to watch her now, back on the deck and legs in a diamond shape as she stretched her hips out to Tevura’s Embrace, her eyes no longer those of a merciless killer, now merely the slightly strained eyes of a human attempting a particularly difficult yoga pose developed and adapted by bodies much more flexible than hers. How quickly, how easily she outwardly seemed to slide between Shepard the Spectre and Shepard her workout partner, Shepard her unlikely friend. A smile slid over T’Nere’s face. It had been some time since she had someone she could honestly call friend. It felt good.</p><p>“Um… ma’am?”</p><p>Will Plunkett, the skinny human technician with the absurd mop of ginger hair, stood at something vaguely resembling attention. The creep of a blush nearly the same color as that unruly fuzz was cresting over his collar, and though his eyes were firmly planted on the deck, T'Nere could see him struggling to keep them there and not stray upwards, towards either pair of long, toned, bare legs displayed before him. Behind him, a few of the other lower-deck crewmen lingered at the edge of the armory deck that T'Nere and Shepard had claimed as their workout space. It appeared that Plunkett had, as usual, drawn the short straw in delivering news to the Skipper when she was out-of-uniform.</p><p>"Spill," Shepard grunted, still trying to complete the pose.</p><p>"Captain Soru'Nal has those telemetry reports you asked for, ma'am," he stammered. "Something about that cruiser's drift vectors. I think. And we have word from the Admiralty Board via relay-drone. The Captain sounded urgent, ma’am."</p><p>Grumbling under her breath, Shepard let her weight fall, laid backwards on the cold steel floor to catch her breath for a moment before launching into a ferocious string of crunches. The crewmen - and T'Nere - watched her intently. Shepard was not T'Nere's type - she liked her intimate partners on the softer, more full-figured side, and there was little softness to be found in Shepard's form, all sinew and scar tissue and lean muscle and black ink, never mind the hooked, oft-broken nose - but she could see, in theory, how one might find the dusky-hued human appealing. She wondered with some degree of curiosity how the bookish xeno-archaeologist daughter of one of the most powerful Matriarch lineages on Thessia came to be one of those such people.</p><p>"Let the Captain know I'll be at the bridge soon as I've hit the shower," Shepard exhaled, throwing a combination of punches each time she rose with a grunt. The hapless technician seemed fascinated with the way the human woman's abdominal muscles clenched as she worked. </p><p>"And Plunkett?"</p><p>"Ma'am?" He tensed, reflexively.</p><p>"Pick your jaw off the floor, soldier." She winked at him. She <em> winked </em> at him!</p><p>Will Plunkett turned several shades a brighter color than T'Nere imagined was healthy for a human and snapped smartly to attention. "Yes ma'am. Uh, right away, ma'am," he managed, before positively bolting out of the armory. The asari stifled a chuckle as the other crewmen howled with laughter.</p><p>"I think I bought us another couple minutes," Shepard said with a lopsided grin as she hoisted herself to her feet. "Did you want to work the heavy bag a little?"</p><p>"You humans are so… <em> modest </em>," T'Nere complained as she rose from her own posture, recovering her gloves and squaring up against the padded practice-bag. "Plunkett may be young, but he is of sexual maturity, is he not? You would have thought he had never seen a potential mate." She threw a few light jabs, relishing the feel of hitting a target for a change, the pleasant sound as her first struck the soft leather. "I thought he might burst a blood vessel each time you leaned forward."</p><p>Shepard snickered, steadying the punching bag as T’Nere rained blows upon it. "Let's not get high and mighty, here, about different races' handling of their sexual impulses in close proximity, Miss T'Nere. I spent years in a commando unit, remember? Would you prefer to find him in your bedroll, like the maidens used to do to me on Thessia?"</p><p>"That sounds like it must have been a terrible hardship for you," T'Nere rolled her eyes as she spun, slamming a heel with bone-crunching force neatly beside the Spectre's head. "Is that where you got the dancer tattoo?"</p><p>"No," Shepard's eyes flashed with insolence. She shoved the bag back at the asari. "Got that when I was fourteen."</p><p>“Ha!”</p><p>T’Nere bounced on the balls of her feet for a few moments more, an exaggerated imitation of her human sparring partner’s high-handed stance with a grin of her own, before dropping her hands. “Peace, Skipper. If I keep up your pace all morning, I will injure something. And besides,” She blew a mouthful of hot air at the human. “You had better see what the Captain wants before I keep you all morning, Skipper.” </p><p>Shepard clicked her tongue, sighed regretfully. “Mood-killer.” The human rolled her shoulders a few more times, her restlessness apparent with every movement. <em> Goddess, she isn’t even tired, </em> T’Nere thought, her own fatigue steadily starting to set into her limbs. “You get off easy today. Duty calls.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“So, T’Nere…”</p><p>“<em> Sergeant </em> T’Nere,” the asari corrected instantly, bringing two fingers up to her shoulder, mimicking chevrons. “And don’t you forget it, Dexicus.”</p><p>The turian clacked his mandibles at her, surprisingly mortified. <em> Turians always did have a stick up their asses about rank </em>. She had never liked turians, and didn’t particularly like this one, but could at the least respect his commitment to deference, even when it was lapsing. </p><p>“Yes, Sergeant. Sorry, Sergeant.”</p><p>T’Nere stifled a sigh. She still wasn’t entirely certain why she had been chosen as the squad’s second-in-command. Yes, she was the most experienced soldier of the lot of them by far, and her prowess in battle was unmatched, save by Shepard herself. As an asari, a clearly more advanced and superior species, her position made a certain kind of sense; a guiding presence for her younger and less-evolved squadmates. But T’Nere had never been overly comfortable with aliens, had never been responsible for the lives of aliens, and would have been perfectly content exclusively in the company of other asari - or simply on her own, just another soldier. Asari huntresses worked in much smaller teams than this, and as a mercenary she’d largely been a bodyguard, a private contractor. No responsibility or expectations besides the hunt.</p><p>And yet... She had felt a strange pride well up within her as Shepard had pinned those chevrons to her armor.  This was the first time in her more than two hundred years of active military service she’d been part of something that felt bigger than her. Even if they were relegated to crawling through largely abandoned space, searching amidst the detritus and ruin for signs of life.</p><p>“Out with it, private,” she gestured around a mouthful of what the quarian mess-officer had insisted was a levo-amino acid-based protein mash. He had described it, she recalled as she chewed a most unsatisfactory bite, as "everything the body needs." <em> Alien cuisine, </em> she thought disparagingly.</p><p>"Is it true what they say about the Spectre? Sergeant," Dexicus added hastily. T'Nere could feel seven sets of eyes on her. The mess hall had gone uncharacteristically quiet for midday meal.</p><p>"What <em> who </em> says about the Spectre, <em> private? </em>" she breathed in a voice that could chill a winter's night. </p><p>"Um. The vids… Sergeant. There was a… report. On the Vice Admiral… the, uh, former Vice Admiral's trial." She didn’t know if a turian could gulp, but this one was evidently trying.</p><p>"They say she's a Unionist sympathizer, Sergeant," Laedros, the female turian, interjected. <em> The smarter of the two, </em> she thought, <em> but not that much smarter, apparently. </em> "She refused to fire on one of their ships, during the Iera incident. They tried her for <em> treason </em>, Sergeant.”</p><p>“That is a matter of public record,” T’Nere admitted. “As is her being relieved of command within the Alliance, twice. Once for working with Cerberus after being spaced, and once for-”</p><p>“Aratoht,” Sandekan, the normally-quiet batarian, interrupted. “May those who made the ultimate sacrifice stand tall amidst the Pillars of our ancestors, honored for all eternity.” The batarian’s eyes were mournful. </p><p>“You and her spend time together, Sergeant,” Yija, the salarian, offered. “Surely you speak of such things.”</p><p>
  <em> And there it is. This is why you don’t make friends with aliens. </em>
</p><p>“The Skipper and I are workout partners. She’s my superior officer,” T’Nere lied through her teeth. “And no, Yija, we don’t talk about what’s under her service jacket. Or any of her political leanings.” She shook her spoon at the nosy salarian.</p><p>“We’re supposed to be chasing a Unionist cruiser, Sergeant,” Will Plunkett moaned. “What if we’re walking into another Iera? We could all be killed!”</p><p>“The Beirut didn’t get destroyed at Iera, idiot,” Laedros hissed.</p><p>“The Beirut is a dreadnought,” Doll, the other human, grunted. “The Moreh is just a frigate. How many of those has the Spectre had shot out from under her, now?”</p><p>“Quiet, all of you,” T’Nere’s voice was a whiplash.</p><p>They listened. <em> Goddess. They listened. </em> She found herself caught between seven sets of eyes again. Their fears, their worries, all focused on her. Looking to her for guidance. Looking to her for leadership. <em> Stupid babies </em> , she wanted to shout at them. <em> You are not worthy of laundering that woman’s gloves. </em></p><p>“Skipper pulled us out of the fire on Clobaka,” she said instead. “That should be good enough for <em> any </em> of you, but if for some reason it is not, let’s talk about what else is public record.”  Suppressing the spreading anxiety in her gut at holding the attention of so many aliens for so long, she began to pace. “She saved the Citadel. She put an end to those raids on human colonies out in the Traverse. She ended the Reaper War, for Goddess’ sake. She helped <em> found </em> the Republic. The asari wouldn’t have a voice on the council if not for her. Nor the krogan or quarians, as I hear it.</p><p>“And if she refused to fire on a Unionist ship at Iera? I am willing to wager she had a good reason to refuse that order. She is a woman of principle, of integrity. Have you ever heard of Commander Shepard running from a fight?”</p><p>Seven sets of downcast eyes gave her answer.</p><p>“But the trial…” Laedros began.</p><p>“Laedros, I do not know how the old turian Hierarchy handled charges of treason, but I do not think the Admiralty Board would have maintained her Spectre status and given her a <em> ship </em> if they thought she was a danger to the Republic,” T’Nere said with a roll of her eyes.</p><p>“But Sergeant,” Plunkett said tremulously. “Shepard backed Cerberus, and they turned on us in the end. What if… what if the Union is just another Cerberus?”</p><p>T’Nere studied him for a moment. “I trust Agent Shepard’s judgement,” she said quietly. “So should you, <em> private. </em>”</p><p>None of the other marines seemed to dare to breathe. T’Nere stared intently at each of them in turn. The mess hall was filled with a tense silence. Finally, mercifully, it was broken by the ship’s comm.</p><p>**Sergeant T’Nere, you’re needed on the bridge. Priority one.**</p><p><em> Dammit, Shepard, </em> she thought angrily as she swept from the mess. <em> What the hell have you gotten me into? </em></p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>The bridge was as silent and as tense as the mess had been. Shepard, the quarian captain, Soru'Nal, and a gaggle of junior officers were clustered around the main console, where a dozen feed-screens blinked shimmered against a backdrop of empty space. T’Nere could see what looked like accelerator flashes, strafing fighter-craft, and glowing blips on a terrestrial map. Shepard was flicking through screens, shaking her head. Soru’Nal had her arms crossed.</p><p>“Sergeant T’Nere, reporting ma’am. Skipper.” She drew herself up for a proper salute. The deck officers seemed surprised at her presence. T’Nere could see them murmuring amongst each other.</p><p>“As you were, Sergeant,” Shepard didn’t look backward, her voice flat. “Come take a look at this.”</p><p>Obediently, she stepped closer, feeling the weight of all those eyes on her. Just as she’d thought, the vid-screens were displaying some sort of ongoing battle. Even her quick eyes could scarcely follow the speed of the information shifting past the dozen or so screens; a pale grey orb, flitting shapes in high orbit, lightning-cracks of trailing blue light. It looked like several smaller ships conducting some sort of orbital bombardment, while being targetted by an emplaced accelerator of some sort. Who was fighting who, she couldn’t say.</p><p>“Pirates,” Shepard answered the unasked question. “Seven… no, eight ships. Converted freighters, cargo vessels, mining craft they’ve strapped accelerators to. A ragtag flotilla, but out here, with no backup? They might as well be the Fifth Fleet.” She narrowed her eyes, finger hovered over one of the dull shapes. “This frigate, here, that’s not so good. Look at the profile, long and low, with those triangular ailerons. That’s former salarian Union, so it’s going to be armed more like a cruiser. Good thing it looks preoccupied with the bombing, hasn’t picked us up yet.”</p><p>“Is it one of ours?” T’Nere felt like she already knew the answer. </p><p>“It’s a Unionist colony,” Soru’Nal shook her head, twisting platinum bangles like DNA strands attached to a crimson-and-gold cowl tinkling softly as her head bobbed. <em> Pretty </em> , she thought incongruously. A <em> much more attractive alien than Shepard. I think. Pity about the suit. </em> “Smaller, less than a hundred biosigns, nestled up here in the mountains by what looks like an old palladium refinery. They have some kind of defense cannon, it’s keeping the pirates at bay, but… those, here?” The quarian stretched out a finger, enhanced one of the smaller feeds. “They’re prepping landing craft. They’ll strip the colony bare, take the young and able-bodied and kill the rest.”</p><p><em> Slavers. </em> She felt her hands ball into fists. <em> Filthy degenerate pirate slavers. Goddess, if we but had a larger ship... </em></p><p>“Are we cleared to engage, ma’am?” T’Nere asked quietly.</p><p>Shepard stood silently, and she could <em> feel </em> the human’s simmering rage as she studied the screens. It was Soru’Nal who answered, again. “It’s a Unionist colony,” she repeated, her tone carefully and deliberately neutral.</p><p>The implications of that statement gripped all three women by the throat.</p><p>“Sergeant T’Nere, I want shuttles prepped and Echo Team locked and loaded in thirty minutes,” Shepard said after a long moment.</p><p>“Agent Shepard” Soru’Nal kept her voice low, urgent. “We’re outnumbered, eight to one. We have no support, and by the time the Republic can scramble a response this colony will be a smoking crater. And those are <em> Unionists </em>. Officially, we’re supposed to be at war.”</p><p>“Those <em> Unionists </em> used to be <em> our people </em>, Soru,” Shepard hissed. “I’m going to go get them the hell out of there.”</p><p>“Shepard.” The quarian leaned in closer, and T’Nere could feel her eyes on her through the smoky quartz of her mask. “I am not unsympathetic to their plight-”</p><p>“Then <em> Help. Me, </em>” the human pleaded through gritted teeth.</p><p>The two women stared at each other in a tense silence for a long moment. It was Soru who broke her gaze, first, turning back to the image-screens from the recon-drones. “If I took the Moreh into low orbit, right into the planet’s atmosphere, came in along these mountain ranges… under the emplaced gun but just outside the pirate’s scope, fast and low...”</p><p>“... two shuttles, dropped here and here. I take one half of Echo, T’Nere takes the other half. Round up the colonists and back to the Moreh as you make your second pass, keeps you out of the guns of any pirates that have made planetfall-”</p><p>“-and slingshots us out of the planet’s orbit. We’ll have three strides on them before they even think to give chase.” The quarian sounded cautious, but optimistic. “Timing would have to be very tight. The Moreh is exposed on the second pass. If any or all of your ground team, or any of the colonists, can’t make the rendezvous point… We could not go back for you.”</p><p>“You let me worry about that, Captain.” Shepard winked at her. She <em> winked </em> at her! “You just worry about that salarian frigate.”</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>T'Nere took two hurried steps and flung herself through the open door of the prefab domicile as a hail of bullets perforated the exterior wall beside her. Pain immediately bloomed up the side of her; she snarled as much in annoyance as agony as she looked down at the razor shards of broken glass embedded into her commando leathers, courtesy of a wide-paned picture window that must have, at one point, offered a spectacular view of the mountain range the colony sat at the foot of. The home was blissfully empty, though the quaint decorations and children’s toys mingled with bloody glass and bullet holes made for a macabre fighting-place. Outside, the rattle of small arms fire was punctuated by the heavy, deep-throated bassoon of some kind of heavy gun the slavers had brought in. Their fire was wild, sporadic, and accompanied by raucous shouting and cruel laughter. From somewhere, she could hear more disciplined rifle-fire, could hear the buzz of comms-chatter from the beleaguered Echo Two-One, separated from their leader. Gritting her teeth against the pain, the asari forced herself to her knees amidst the broken glass. She had to get back to her squad. Had to get back into the fight.</p><p>A door burst open, further in the domicile, and a pair of vorcha scrambled in, spraying the ceiling with automatic fire and filling the air with yips and howls. T’Nere threw an arm forward and accompanied it with a mental impulse; a shockwave of biotic energy rippled into them with bone-jarring force, sending the slavers crashing backwards into the wall. There were a pair of identical wet sounds, like overripe fruit falling from a short height, and both were still. More gunfire rattled through the now-empty window, tearing up a wall adorned with family photos as T’Nere dashed past in a low crouch. She caught a metallic flash arcing towards her in the corner of her eye, tucked herself into a roll, caught and threw the blinking orb in the same motion as she threw herself as far backwards into the home. An explosion ripped through the air, sending screams and shrapnel scything out in all directions. Far beyond worried about the broken glass, T’Nere forced herself back on her feet, charged out the door the pair of vorcha had entered by and into the snow-dusted street. Her huntresses’ eye sighted two targets immediately; her rifle snapped up to her shoulder in a single smooth, unhurried motion. A human and a batarian, both looking stunned by the grenade she’d thrown back at them. She put a round in the side of the batarian’s head before either registered her presence. The human tried to turn, but was embarrassingly slow, and her second shot took him through the heart.</p><p>**-chk-’Nere, come in! Sergeant T’Nere, come in!** Yija’s voice sounded panicked over the comm. </p><p>**T’Nere here.** Slipping around a scorched, smoking crater, her feet barely leaving a print in the fresh snow and blood-churned mud, she flitted between buildings, trying to find the pirates that had her squad - <em> her squad </em>, she thought with a sense of stubborn fierceness - pinned down.</p><p>**Sandekan’s hit, but he says it isn’t serious,** the salarian was chattering. **I put some medi-gel on him. They’re still hitting us from the north and the west. This building’s structural capabilities are deteriorating rapidly, Sergeant.**</p><p><em> Don’t lose your nerve on me now, </em> she grimaced. **Acknowledged. When I hit the west-most group, you pull out to the south. Wait for my signal.**</p><p>**What will the signal be?**</p><p>She didn’t bother to respond. Picking up her pace, she moved towards where the sound of gunfire was loudest. Snow and ash whipped past her cheek as she swept from building to empty building, skirting the site of the main skirmish - <em> our part of the main skirmish </em>, she thought with trepidation - until coming to what must have been some kind of motor pool for the colony up until a few hours ago. The slavers had turned it into some kind of improvised fortification, stacking crates and salvage into a barricade. A handful of them were hastily assembling what looked like improvised firebombs out of scavenged household goods, while the rest rained fire down upon her outflanked Echo team.</p><p>**Sergeant? Ma’am? What will the signal be?**</p><p><em> Kurinth, Goddess of Hunters, </em> she thought, as she calmly, slowly, raised her rifle to her shoulder. <em> Grant that my hands be steady, my aim be true, and my feet swift. </em> She peered downscope, her crosshair zeroing in on her target. <em> May I live to see the silvery light of the moon shine down upon Serrice once again. </em> Her finger hovered over the trigger. <em> May I die but for the grace of the Goddess Athame. </em> She sucked in a breath, held it. <em> May I kill for the glory of Thessia. </em></p><p>**Sergeant?**</p><p>**Now,** she exhaled, and squeezed the trigger.</p><p>The firebomb detonated in a krogan’s hand as he lifted it to throw, engulfing him instantly and spilling liquid fire everywhere. The other half-dozen improvised firebombs immediately went up in a titanic pillar of flame, a column of pure light that T’Nere could feel from a city block away. The explosion seared her vision, leaving white stars swimming across her eyes. Almost immediately, the firing stopped. The slavers didn’t even have time to scream.</p><p>As if on cue, the back door of a smoldering ruin slid open and figures began spilling into the swirling snow - tall shapes, child-like shapes, slender shapes, and everything in between, two dozen now de-homed colonists huddled together, mewling and whimpering as Doll, Vokrax and Sandekan herded them out of the burning building and through the streets. <em> Stupid babies, </em> T’Nere thought, hating their weakness, hating herself for her harshness.</p><p>**I’m a block down, behind some farming equipment,** T’Nere signaled to her team. **Check fire. I’ll keep you covered; get those people into hard cover.**</p><p>**Acknowledged!** Yija, taking up the rear and expertly snapping off shots like he was STG and not the offspring of a banker, urged the colonists along. A few bullets whizzed past, but it seemed like the plan was working so far, that most of the slavers’ forces had been to the north of the colony, where what few Unionist militia they had rushed to a desperate holding action to buy their people time. Where Shepard’s team had inserted, putting themselves in the path of what could be hundreds of slavers. T’Nere flicked open a timer display on her omni-tool, chewed her lip. <em> The Moreh’s on it’s return approach already. We don’t have much time. </em></p><p>“-I understand, I understand,” Doll was saying as the soldiers and the colonists took shelter beneath what was left of the garage T’Nere had firebombed. “But we’re running out of time…”</p><p>“What’s the situation?” T’Nere could barely hear them. Her scope swept the rapidly-crumbling buildings. <em> Too many attack vectors. Too exposed. If they got past Shepard’s team, we’d be like… what was the human expression? Fish in a barrel? </em></p><p>
  <em> Where the hell was Shepard, anyhow? </em>
</p><p>“They’re saying the colony’s doctor is still at the barricade, Sergeant,” Doll grimaced, interrupting her thoughts. “And her two daughters, apparently. They’ve got to be on the other side of the compound, by now.”</p><p>The human-child was young, but T’Nere was a poor judge of the respective ages of aliens. This one looked much younger than the youngest human she knew, the private Will Plunkett - barely into adolescence, all arms and legs. He was very pale, and trembling, and there was an angry-looking cut on his forehead, hidden by a damp mop of black curly hair. “Dad got hurt, and she stayed back to help set his bandage.” His eyes were trembling in a way that made T’Nere want to vomit. She glanced furiously at Doll, who shrugged a pair of slablike shoulders.</p><p>
  <em> Why am I the one comforting the alien? I am a huntress, I do not comfort alien children! </em>
</p><p>**Echo One-One, this is Echo Two-One, do you copy? I’ve got civilians still in your area, please advise.**</p><p>The comm-channel was silent.</p><p>
  <em> Damn you, Shepard. Where the hell are you? </em>
</p><p>**Echo One-One, this is Echo Two-One, do you copy?** T’Nere could feel the weight of both civilians and soldiers on her. More silence.</p><p>“I am sure she is… I am sure your father is well, and the doctor and her daughters are tending to her,” the asari managed to maintain a level tone.</p><p>A series of massive explosions rocked the colony, plumes of smoke and fire and debris that made her conflagration seem a trifle, a candle compared to a raging bonfire. The colonists shrieked and huddled for cover as ash and debris rained down around the overhang of the garage, as the staccato rattle of gunfire picked up to a furious, overwhelming pace.</p><p>**Shepard?** she whispered into the comm.</p><p>**-chk- alling back to the LZ!** a brassy voice burst through the static and pop. **Barricade’s down, but I gave them something to think about! Dexicus and Plunkett have injuries that need looked at. I hope you’re ready to go, T’Nere, because it’s about to get hot!**</p><p>**Yes ma’am,** she suppressed a grin, felt it melt away when she felt the child’s eyes still on her. “Human-child,” she began, then gentled her tone. “Human-child… is there any way to contact your father, or the doctor, or her children?”</p><p>“No, miss,” the boy sniffed. “They cut the comm when… when…” Tears welled up in his eyes.</p><p>“Stop that,” she snapped. Cursed herself. “Do… do not cry, human-child,” she began again, taking a deep breath and kneeling down to look him in the eye. “Your father would want you to be brave, for him. Can you be brave for your father?”</p><p>More sniffs. A tremulous nod.</p><p>“Now, tell me where they are. Be specific, I will not have much time to search.”</p><p>“Sergeant…” Doll started. She silenced him with a glare.</p><p>“The asari lady has a house, just on the edge of the colony. It’s… tall. There’s a funny yellow tree in front of it, in a little greenhouse. She would have taken him there. It’s that way, just a few blocks.” He pointed north-west. Straight into the path of the slavers.</p><p>“‘The asari lady’?” She felt the pit of her stomach drop, as if the floor of an elevator had fallen away beneath her feet.</p><p>“Yes, miss. The doctor and her daughters, they’re asari like you. Dad said… Dad said there aren’t so many… left. That the little girls were special. They’re only ten, miss. That’s why…” He sniffed again. “That’s why I told you.”</p><p><em> Goddess </em>.</p><p>She rose, a boiling storm inside of her. “Doll,” she began, her voice quiet and tense. “Vokrax, perimeter. Yija, spread out whatever medi-gel we have left, do what you can for any of the injured civilians. Sandekan, ammo check. You hold this position for three minutes…” She exhaled. “You hold this position for three minutes and then you fall back to the LZ and form a corridor for Echo One-One’s retreat. They’re going to be coming in hot, and soon.”</p><p>“Sergeant - you can’t go out there by yourself,” Doll, the big human rumbled.</p><p>“Ten years old…” she whispered.</p><p>“Sergeant, this is <em> crazy </em>,” Doll was saying. “Sergeant, are you even listening?”</p><p>“Three minutes, Doll,” she reminded him, rolling over his concerns. “Then you’re all headed to the LZ.” She checked her thermal clips, adjusted the way her pistol slung against her hip just so, made sure the draw on the short, single-edged blade strapped to her thigh was unobstructed. Her nerves sang shrill as a kirigane.</p><p>“You’ll never make it,” Doll protested.</p><p>“Then I guess I’ll see you in hell,” T’Nere retorted. A sudden, mad impulse seized her. She winked at the human-child. And then she was gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Relax. Breathe.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <span>The soldier drifted in darkness.</span>
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  <span>In the darkness, time is infinite, meaningless, empty. The soldier knew not how long they had drifted, knew nothing of “before.” Endless black fading to a fuzzy grey at the edges. Knew only of a great, hollow void, a starless expanse that surrounded them, cocoon-like. The nothingness was everything.</span>
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  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
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  <span>A faint flickering image drifted past the soldier. There were faces, names, a painfully bright sun. Nothing that connected; nothing that seemed to find purchase. The soldier knew it was supposed to, knew these things meant something, to someone, somehow. Whatever it was, it seemed just out of reach. Two starships floating silently past, their charted paths taking them so close to each other, yet impossibly distant.</span>
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  <span>A flash of light, in the darkness.</span>
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  <em>
    <span>Where… who..?</span>
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  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
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  <span>Another image, this one slightly clearer. A young girl with a freckled face sits in the warm dirt, staring up at the sky beneath the shade of a gnarled, old tree. Yellow fruit hangs heavy overhead, glistening in the sunlight. The clatter of pans in a kitchen. The smell of flowers. The flapping of a bird’s wings. The buzz of insects amidst the roses. A man’s voice calls out a name, and a face appears at the window. He calls the name again. The soldier doesn’t recognize the name.</span>
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  <em>
    <span>Ramallah.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The word drifted past the soldier’s head. It seemed significant, somehow.</span>
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  <span>Another flash. Like lightning, like a storm, flickering in the cloudy darkness.</span>
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  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
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  <span>Two women shout at each other across a room. There is scant furniture, no decoration; a spartan, soldier’s dwelling. There are no photos on the wall. There is a glass vase filled with dead roses; dried out, neglected. The women have the same eyes, the same freckled noses. The older woman is standing over a pair of duffel bags. They aren’t hers. There are tears in the younger woman’s eyes. She’s only a child. She demands to know why she’s being sent away. She balls her hands into fists, and a pale blue glow flickers over them. The older woman turns away, concealing her own tears. The child whispers something. Her mother doesn’t answer.</span>
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  <span>Something stirs within the soldier. The grey at the edges of her vision are swirling, churning. Lightning.</span>
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  <em>
    <span>Mom..?</span>
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  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
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  <span>A woman in a blue naval uniform opens a door. There are two smartly-dressed soldiers behind it. Their faces are somber. One of them has a letter in his hand. A typed letter, not a data-pad. The woman’s expression does not change. </span>
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  <span>“We regret to inform you…” The soldiers salute. The woman salutes. She listens. The woman’s expression does not change. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... peacefully, in his sleep.” The woman’s expression does not change. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain Shepard has already been contacted. There is a number you can call-” one of the soldiers begins, but the woman cuts him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We haven’t spoken since I was a child. I’ll be fine.” The woman’s expression does not change. She closes the door. She crumples the letter into a ball and throws it into the waste disposal. The woman’s expression does not change.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My name… is…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My… name...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The light is harsh and burning, peeling, scorching. Piercing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“-need to know you’re always coming back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The asari’s eyes shimmer with tears. Her hands on the woman’s shoulders are clinging, insistent. Her breath is tremulous, chest rising and falling. A flush has crept up her neck, across her cheeks. Their foreheads are nearly touching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know…” the woman breaths, huskily. “That’s a pretty big promise to make…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Liara?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Liara..?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The light is everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She stretches like a cat against her lover, deft hands roaming between her uniform shirt and the compression suit beneath, pressing the heat and warmth of her body to her as tightly as she could. Soft lips leave a suckling trail of fire along the side of her neck. Her own fingers struggle with the toggles along the front of the asari’s jumpsuit, straining as she slides a hand inside, digs her fingers into that pliant blue flesh. Her thumb draws lazy circles upwards as she crushes her lips against Liara’s, savoring her taste, her smell, bites down on a bottom lip and pulls ever so slightly as forefinger and thumb close on the tip of her breast, eliciting a gasp and a low, throaty growl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If this elevator doesn’t get up to your cabin soon…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Liara...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><span>“Doctor-”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I see it.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“She’s spiking-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light is everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did good, child. You… you did good. I’m… I’m proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old soldier shakes back and forth, his face sagging, his eyes tired. There was a flame in them. The flame is dying. The woman beside him reaches out to grab onto his hand, squeezing. She feels blood, both of their blood, streaming down through their entwined fingers. Something wet and warm trickles down her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anderson… hold on. We’re almost there.” Shepard’s voice catches, chokes, a bone in her throat. The pain of her own wounds is overwhelming, the fatigue, the crash of adrenaline draining away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re almost there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old soldier exhales, lets out a long groan. His hand slackens in hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice is a strangled whisper. Tears burn her eyes. “... Anderson..?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awareness of her surroundings…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... not ready, yet. She’s half in pieces, still…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Liara? Love? Where are you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a face, through the haze. An unfamiliar outline, with kind eyes. “Relax. Breathe…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Li… a… ra..?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“... whatever happens… I want to spend my life with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face lights up. She keeps her expression coy, playful, but Shepard can read her eyes even without the meld, can pierce that infinite deep blue, blue like the shimmering Earth from high orbit, blue as the the moon over Thessia on an Armali lake. Those eyes go down and down forever, radiating pure love, purest trust. Shepard’s hands find hers, can feel them trembling in her grasp. Her head is tilted in that guileless half-smile that Shepard has come to know as Liara’s “hurry up and kiss me, already” face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you are extremely lucky I feel that way, too,” she says, her voice scarcely above a whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Liara..!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The face swims overhead, a nebulous cloud. There is a concerned tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shepard, you need to breathe. Shepard? Shepard, can you hear me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sirens. Flashing lights. An… alarm? Something grips her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever happens… you’re my whole world. I love you, Little Wing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sybilla, I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sybilla. My name is Sybilla Reem Shepard.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Sybilla. I am yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s crashing. We can’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The light is tearing me apart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A mother sits beneath a tree, cradling two small children in a pile of fresh snow. It falls all around them, gently, softly, like dandelions in spring, a pure, white blanket. Snow-capped mountains loom behind them, impossibly tall and vast, pine-shrouded slopes seeming to rise straight up out of the earth, reaching into the infinite starry blackness overhead. The canopy of stars above is breathtaking. The entire universe, so wide and vast, filled with infinite possibility.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mother holds her daughters close to her and points upwards, giving names to the stars and planets in the great beyond. She murmurs stories, some frightening, some funny, some hopeful, the tapestry of her voice weaving history filled with wonder and life and joy. As she speaks, her blue eyes shimmer with pride, with love, with a quiet, impenetrable sadness. Her daughters look up at her, childlike wonder and curiosity and trust. She strokes their foreheads lovingly, admiring their green, green eyes, the smattering of freckles on the bridges of their identical noses. Holds them just a little closer to her, holding back a tear as she thinks of another set of green eyes, and freckles, a lopsided grin, a brassy wink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... loves you very much,” the mother was whispering. She smooths out their foreheads and plants a kiss on each of them. “Never, ever doubt that, my darlings, my Little Wings. Your father loves you so, so much. And one day… and one day…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>R E L A X.  B R E A T H E.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Plunkett.” A soft whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ma’am?” The soldier’s eyes were wide, the grip on his rifle tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax.” Shepard patted him gently on the shoulder. “Breathe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s… a lot of them, ma’am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beneath them, slavers and mercenaries were spread out through the snowy streets, snarling and howling as they smashed windows, shot out at random, despoiled and defiled people’s homes. Cruel laughter echoed through hastily-abandoned domiciles as they searched for any stragglers, for any of the brave souls who had tried to fight them off to buy the others time to hide, time to flee into the mountains. They descended like a swarm of locusts, looting, pillaging, stripping bare for the taking anything they deemed worth to take. Shepard despised them on sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s about to be a lot less,” she said, flashing Plunkett a grim smile. She tapped her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Everyone have their targets?**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Confirmed,** Laedros signaled from a low rooftop across the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Acknowledged, ma’am.** Dexicus, this time, further down, second storey of a home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plunkett nodded woodenly. Shepard gave him another pat on the shoulder. **On my mark: open up, then displace to position four.** She moved toward the shattered window of the store they were holed up in, watched as the skirmish line of mercs drew closer, walked into their web. Her own heart beat an up-tempo snare in her chest. She could feel the tremble of nerves in her hand, that pre-adrenaline surge of anxiety, electricity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Three.**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could feel Plunkett tense up, could hear the soft crunch of broken glass beneath his feet as he slid his rifle up to his shoulder, peeking the muzzle out of his own window ever so slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Two.**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laedros was statue-still on her rooftop, peering down-scope at her chosen target. She’d already laid out a number of grenades beside her. She was skylining herself a little too much for Shepard’s liking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**One.**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A krogan swaggered in her direction. He didn’t see her, not yet, but the barrel of his shotgun yawned like a carrier’s hanger-bay. His face curled up into a sneer as he took a tentative step into the doorway of what had once been some kind of store, yellow eyes adjusting to the shadows. The shadows they lurked in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Mark.**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A swirling, electric blue glow enveloped her arm, and Shepard felt tiny needles pinch at the back of her brain as she hurled the biotic field at the krogan, an invisible hand of force lifting the massive figure into the air as if he were weightless. She snapped off two shots from the hip, catching him in the exposed plates under the arm, before reversing the mass effect field she’d caught him with, slamming him into the ground with the weight and force of an unmoored dreadnought. Then she was moving, sprinting out into the street. The blue glow enveloped her again, this time drawing a buffeting tidal wave of force across a surprised line of mercenaries, throwing them aside like the discarded playthings of a petulant child. Her rifle barked against her hip once, twice, three times, dropping two more of the mercenaries and sending a third reeling, howling behind a support pillar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gunfire roared all around her as the rest of her team opened up; Dexicus and Plunkett rattling volleys of tight, controlled fire into the ambushed mercenaries, Laedros with the thrumming bass of her heavy rifle. A dozen slavers died instantly; more, wounded, confused, afraid, fell back screaming. This was not how their attack was supposed to have gone, and like most undisciplined corsairs and guns-for-hire, as soon as the tides of battle shifted so too did their resolve. Shepard could hear their panicked calls for backup, had seen the columns of mercenaries pouring out of shuttles and landing craft, and knew they had precious little time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Displace! Position four!** She snapped her rifle up to her shoulder, a practiced, singular motion that brought almost a strange comfort, the familiar weight, the gentle kick against her shoulder and arm, the feel of the worn-down trigger against her finger. Her weapon sang a deadly song, murderous verses punching mercenaries and slavers off their feet, forcing their heads down, keeping them from shooting her team in the back as they filed out of cover and through the fallback corridor she’d roughly drawn in the fresh snow. An explosion bloomed in the overhang of one of the domiciles, sending razor-sharp shards of glass scything into screaming, cowering mercenaries. A silver orb flashed through the air in the corner of Shepard’s vision; without turning she caught it, primed it, sent Laedros’ grenade into a building on the opposite side of the street to identical, lethal effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smoky shapes tumbled through the dust and snow and shots began to pop and whine up the street towards Shepard’s squad. She waited until she was certain everyone was past her and around the corner before falling back herself, snapping off a shot every few paces as much to remind the mercenaries she was still there as to keep their heads down. Rattling gunfire and explosions rang out seemingly in all directions, everywhere in the cramped streets of the small colony. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, that got their attention</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought with a bittersweet grin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now maybe if we could do that eleven or twelve more times…</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. For the Glory of Thessia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The dwelling was as cold and silent as a grave.</p><p>Past the door panel’s gentle hiss and the swirling snowstorm building outside, the interior of the home was shrouded in darkness. Squinting to adjust her eyes, T’Nere staggered in as silently as she could, one hand pressed firmly to a torn side, wet and sticky with blood, the other gripping a heavy pistol tightly. She couldn’t remember when, in the last harrowing few minutes of fighting, she’d lost her rifle. <em> I really liked that rifle </em>, she cursed. The floor creaked ever so slightly underfoot. She could see a room full of dim shapes; books, dozens of them, what looked like a human-pattern Alliance military helmet, children’s toys scattered about a kitchen melding into a dining room. A keyboard in a corner. A trail of blood, starting outward at the door and leading in.</p><p>T’Nere brought the pistol up, slowly, settling painfully into a half-crouch as she swept the rooms. Breathing through gritted teeth, she tried to force her heartbeat to steady, to slow. <em> Kurinth, Goddess of Hunters </em> , the old prayer ran through her mind over and over again, the mantra something to grip, something to maintain her edge. <em> Grant that my hands be steady, my aim be true, and my feet swift. May I live to see the silvery light of the moon shine down upon Serrice once again. </em> The bullet-wound in her side howled with every breath, every step. <em> Ten years old, </em> she thought, not for the first time. <em> Twin asari. May I die but for the grace of the Goddess Athame. May I kill for the glory of Thessia. </em> Another two steps, entering the kitchen, now. Flickering photos in a digital frame. A smiling mother, a pair of children with shining faces. <em> Kurinth, Goddess of Hunters. </em> Books on contemporary human history. A child’s mathematics workbook, half filled out. <em> Grant that my hands be steady, my aim be true, and my feet swift. </em> A meal for three, cold on the table. A pair of scissors on the floor. Bloody bandages. A stifled breath. A shadow, in the far corner. <em> May I kill for the glory of Thessia. </em></p><p>The shadow detatched from the wall, and T’Nere caught a flash of electric blue just before a churning ball of biotic force roared across the room toward her. She threw herself sideways, snapping off a pair of shots as the ball of coruscating dark energy rippled and roiled across her back, sending white-hot daggers of agony through her already-battered frame. Blood singing with adrenaline, she forced her knees to obey her, forced herself to her feet, to sprint forward with every ounce of speed she still possessed. Another flash of lightning, another surge of electric blue in the gloom, but this time she marked the silhouette behind it. A neural impulse, a gathered breath, and she was streaking across the room like a thunderbolt, propelled at unfathomable speed and force by a mass effect field of her own, a trick that Shepard of all people had taught her. She smashed a forearm into the shadowed figure’s chest, felt her barriers and the figures’ collide, and with the kinetic force of a pair of skycars colliding and a roar like a building collapsing, both biotics were sent crashing into opposite walls, winded.</p><p>The pain was exquisite, excruciating, focusing. Sucking in a breath, T’Nere rolled, was already moving, her pistol lost, the short, single-edged blade strapped to her thigh singing free of its scabbard, flashing in the dark like a crescent moon in the night sky across Thessia. The other biotic was still struggling to rise, scrabbling across the floor for the pistol T’Nere had discarded. She was on top of them in three steps, straddling them, seizing a handful of collar and forcing her blade against their throat, forcing the figure to the floor, roughly.</p><p>“Tell me where the asari doctor is, and I will grant you the peace of the Goddess’ embrace,” she sneered.</p><p>“You’ve found her,” came a low voice, half-choked and defiant.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"I do not have any more medi-gel, and I do not have the tools to pull this bullet out," the doctor was saying, peering at T'Nere's injured side. "You are losing a lot of blood."</p><p>"No time," she hissed, lightning coursing through her side. "I have to get you and the girls to the extraction point."</p><p>The doctor pursed her lips, glanced up at her with a stern, almost matronly look. Her high-collared asari-style gown was covered in bloody handprints, and a good deal of the skirt’s yellow hem had been torn away, to fashion bandages much like the one she was winding around T’Nere’s waist. She was much younger than T’Nere, younger by two hundred years, she judged, but there were creases of worry and strain across her forehead, on the bridge of a lightly-freckled face, at the corners of a pair of very deep, very blue eyes. <em> Pretty </em> , she thought idly. <em> Very pretty. And very sad. Though I suppose after the Reaper War, there isn’t a soul in the galaxy not carrying the weight of their sorrow and regret </em>.</p><p>“A… human-child, a… boy? told me you were trapped here. Said something about their father.” She glanced around expectantly, feeling deft fingers tightening her makeshift bandage. “A human-father, and an asari doctor, and two young- <em> GODDESS </em> that stings - two young asari. We caught your colony’s distress call. Our ship is inbound, to evacuate survivors.”</p><p>“Isaac.” The doctor closed her eyes a moment, sighing. “He… he did not survive. He was trying to get the others to safety, and they shot him through the throat. I did everything I could, but…” She clenched and unclenched her fists, helplessly. “It was not enough. It never seems to be enough…” </p><p>“You are Federated Republic marines?” she asked after a moment of pained silence. Her voice was soft with trepidation. T’Nere nodded. “And you risked yourselves to help us, knowing..?” T’Nere nodded again. </p><p>“We don’t leave people behind.”</p><p>The doctor studied her, those sorrowful eyes swirling with apprehension. “It would seem I have little choice but to trust you.”</p><p>T’Nere rose and pushed past, her back and side howling at her as she bent to recover her pistol and check the heat sink. “Correct. Grab your children and whatever you can carry and run, and I’ll meet you outside in thirty seconds.”</p><p>“But that is-” the doctor started to protest.</p><p>“Twenty-nine, doctor. Twenty-eight…” The doctor scrambled up a short flight of stairs, hissing out a pair of names. T’Nere barely heard her. Heard only the sound of snow crunching underfoot, of clipped tones and the harsh clacking of a shotgun being chambered, of a vorcha’s predatorial snarl. There was a crash of glass, and a metallic clang as something spherical and silver bounced onto the floor.</p><p>
  <em> Shit. </em>
</p><p>Agony and adrenaline shot through her like a mass accelerator cannon as she threw a tight ball of biotic energy around the grenade, felt the shockwave of pent-up energy shred what was left of her tired shields and her weakened focus and fling her backwards across the kitchen, to smack with a sickening sound against a wall. She let out a long, ragged breath as rage, sweet blessed rage sang through her veins, strengthened her limbs, cut through the fog in her likely-concussed brain. A human figure burst in through the door and she shot him twice in the chest, the pistol’s kick sending tingles up her spine. Somehow she was up on her feet, as a salarian and a vorcha stumbled behind the still-collapsing human’s corpse, trying to bring their weapons to bear but they were so, so slow, and Saith T’Nere was alive, and she was moving, and the bullets streaking past might as well have been droplets of water in zero gravity, and she could dance around them laughing. The salarian gurgled as a red blossom bloomed in his throat, fell to a knee clutching vainly at his collar, and the vorcha was trying to raise up its shotgun but she was atop it already, that single-edged blade flashing like the wings of a ship in flight, drawing a slim line of crimson first across its stomach, then slamming the razor point into the soft spot in its rancid armpit with a backhanded thrust. With a contemptuous snap of her foot, she booted the dead alien out of the house and into the snow outside.</p><p>The snow outside that was ringed with guns.</p><p>“Doctor! Barrier! Now!” She threw herself flat, threw both hands out as every last ounce of strength she could muster went into the strongest shield she could weave together, draining her own personal barriers, draining whatever flagging reserves remained to her. The sound of all those guns going off at once was deafening, apocalyptic, like all storms in all the seas colliding at once. She felt every bullet, every ricochet, every shot tearing into what was left of her strength…</p><p>… felt invisible hands, strong ones, pushing back against the unyielding assault, steadying her barriers, steadying <em> her </em>. An electric blue glow seemed to suffuse everything in the house, throwing shadows into stark contrast, looming large and haunting. Turning her head as much as she dared, T’Nere saw the asari doctor, mantled in biotic power, her eyes twin pools of a burning white light, a nimbus of unimaginable energy playing about her upraised fingertips. Two very young asari children clung to her legs, burying freckled faces with short, underdeveloped crests behind their mother’s torn skirts. T’Nere caught sight of two identical pairs of fearful, flashing green eyes as a wall of gravitational force slid over her barrier, slid over the building’s exterior, snapped shut like steel shutter doors and stood defiant against the onslaught, and did not falter. And did not falter. And did not falter.</p><p><em> Goddess, she’s strong, </em> she marveled, forcing herself to her feet</p><p>“We have to go!” T’Nere screamed. “Neither of us can keep this up much longer!” The children shrunk further into their mother’s skirt.</p><p>The doctor seemed to barely hear her. She was wrapped up in a storm of churning, swirling biotic power. There was no reasoning with a storm; only seeking shelter, seeking survival. Outside, the shooting had stopped, replaced by surprised grunting, shouting. T’Nere saw mercs lifted helplessly, plucked from the ground, drifting upwards into the pull of a crackling singularity of biotic energy, a gravity-well so strong it was pulling siding off the exterior wall of the house, was shredding glass and boiling snow and uprooting anything tied down.</p><p>The doctor’s mouth was moving, but the words that came out were a thundering avalanche, the rumble of the earth quaking beneath your feet, the heat of a raging fire. Her hands curled, closed, balled into fists, and with a blinding flash and high-pitched feedback whine, the singularity collapsed. </p><p><em> “THIS. IS. MY. </em> <b> <em>HOME</em> </b> <em> .” </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Nothing Is Ever Easy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>**What do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> she left?**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard not having a good morning. She was in a full sprint, her pistol singing in her fist, a wounded turian slung over her shoulder. Something wet and sticky was dripping out of her hair, down the side of her face, and she was no longer sure if it was her blood, the turian’s, or something else’s. The blood streaming down her face, stinging her eyes and obstructing her vision, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> was hers, from when she’d re-broken her nose for what must be the eleventh or twelfth time. Ragged breaths tore from her burnt lips, wracking through several assuredly-cracked ribs. She wasn’t sure how her legs were still moving and didn’t have time to think about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Ran off,** Doll was screaming into her ear over the chatter of gunfire and the crackle of static. **Something about the colony’s doctor, and a pair of little kids caught behind the fallback corridor. The shuttles are about to be here, ma’am - we’re keeping their heads down, bu-FUCK-**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Doll.** She tapped her comm-bead, didn’t pause or slow as a pair of mercs broke cover up ahead. Her pistol bucked against a gauntleted palm, twice, and both of the murderous would-be slavers fell, screaming. **Doll?**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Still here,** the burly old mechanic’s voice returned, much to her relief. **Clipped me in the ear, the bastards… Yija’s getting a lot of readings to the east and north, ma’am. They’re converging right on your tail.**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shot whined past, from behind her, pinging off some debris with a metallic whistle. Shepard spun and sighted the shooter; trying to line her up from behind a blasted-out support pillar out front of a ruined store. She put a round in his exposed knee, felt a twinge of satisfaction at his panicked cry as he stumbled out of cover, then lined up another pair of shots across his collarbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Tell me something I don’t know,** she muttered dryly. **I’ve been trying to raise her, but this damn snow… Do you have a lock on T’Nere’s position?**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**No ma’am, but I know where she’s going. Just north-west of our position. Few blocks, the kid said. Two-storey house, with some kind of yellow tree out front.**</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yellow</span>
  </em>
  <span> drifted through her thoughts, didn’t find anything to connect to, kept drifting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Acknowledged. Dexicus, Plunkett and Laedros are coming your way. I’ll go and get he-**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a blinding bue-white flash, and a rippling shockwave scythed through what was remaining of the colony. The swirling snowstorm buffeted through ruined streets with hurricane force; uprooting trees, tearing the siding off buildings, flattening all in its path, as if the hand of a vengeful God had swept down to smooth out a rough and unsatisfactory landscape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard spat out dust and snow and blood, tried to wipe her face clear, to clear her eyes. A dull ringing was all she could hear, and her head felt thick, sluggish, like she’d been mired in a fog. The turian, Dexicus, lay under her - she vaguely remembered throwing him down, throwing herself on top of him, screaming at Laedros and Plunkett to take cover, when the blastwave had caught the four of them, flinging them about like dandelions in a windstorm. “Dex? You still with me?” The turian’s eyes were blurry, unfocused. He waggled a mandible at her, the one he still had left, held together mostly with medi-gel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plunkett? Laedros?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scrawny, gangly human was cautiously dusting himself off, eyes darting this way and that to make sure nobody other than the four of them was getting up, as well. Laedros scrambled about on her back like a flipped-over turtle, snarling a steady stream of turian profanity that her translator apparently couldn’t find English parallels for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Doll?** She radioed cautiously. **Echo Two-One, you alive?**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A long pause. And then, weakly, painfully: **Barely, ma’am. What the fuck was that?**</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A biotic feedback detonation. The biggest one I’ve ever seen. T’Nere… Goddammit, T’Nere…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bending, she pulled Dexicus to his feet. The turian had been shot in both legs, had lost his rifle, had been down to his knife. Laedros and Plunkett limped over, down to their sidearms as well. She passed the turian’s weight onto Plunkett, who only grunted slightly as he slung him over his own shoulders. She looked in each of their eyes. They already knew; she was leaving, and they were falling back, and they were wasting precious time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**You keep that fallback corridor open, Doll. And you hold those goddamn shuttles. Nobody gets left behind. I’m going to go get our asari.**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>When she found what was left of the house, it was burning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greasy flames licked at the foundation of what used to be a humble, two-storey dwelling, perched on the end of a quiet street. Choking black smoke billowed out from the ruins, drifting into the driving snow and out, towards the mountains that loomed above what must have once been a spectacular vista. There was no roof, no front facade, exposing a skeletal afterthought of what had once been a home, a private family sanctuary for God knows how long. The lawn was littered with bodies, and blood, and piles of burnt debris. The very air still buzzed, crackled with biotic energy, and Shepard could feel every hair on her body stand on end, could feel the faint traces of eezo swirling through her bloodstream react to the tingling tendrils of dark matter floating about.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This was where that feedback detonated</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She was sure of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through her haze of pain and frenetic urgency, she could feel something in the back of her brain, some distant memory seeking something to connect to. There was something familiar about the house, about the tree, about the yard, about the burning, twisted remnants of what looked like lattices climbing up the shattered wall…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So we’ve reached </span>
  </em>
  <span>this</span>
  <em>
    <span> part of this hell I live in now?</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought bitterly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where every burning building reminds me of my childhood</span>
  </em>
  <span>? It was a hell of a coincidence. She told herself it was nothing more as she searched the dead scattered about the lawn, found only a few salvageable thermal clips. No asari bodies. She ran a gauntleted hand through the sticky, icy mess in her hair, felt the tingle of a fracture, the light-headedness, the adrenaline edge starting to fade. She could feel the exhaustion struggling to rise to the surface, the pain of her injuries trying to force their way through the walls she’d put up, inside. Elsewhere in the colony, scattered small-arms fire echoed throughout the snowy streets.</span>
</p><p><span>**This is Echo Leader, I need a status update.** </span> <span>Her radio spat nothing but static and snow at her. </span></p><p>
  <span>**Echo One-One, this is Echo Leader, do you copy?**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**Echo One-One? Echo Two-One? Anyone there?**</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tapped at her ear, and was rewarded with a dull-pitched whine of feedback. With a heavy sigh, she limped around to the side of the burning house, where bloody tracks were trailing off towards the fallback corridor. Four sets of tracks, to be specific; two large and two small.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing is ever easy.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The mercenary squad crawled with trepidation through the eerily empty streets. There were five of them, now, down from eight - two of the humans and that yappy, annoying salarian had turned down a corner and been swallowed up by the billowing storm, by that blue-white explosion that had bowled everyone and everything over for what felt like miles. They were well and truly lost, now - missing their radio, down to half the thermal clips they’d started out with, and with scarcely anything looted to show for it. They were hungry, and nervous, and most of them were injured in some manner or another. This colony was supposed to have been easy pickings; only a few dozen inhabitants, no defenses to speak of. When they got back to the ships, someone was going to pay for this disaster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there was a strangled, choking gurgle, and there were four mercenaries in the street, not five.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The four scrambled to snap their weapons up, peering through the billowing snow and dust, trying to track the outline of shadowy shapes flitting at the edges of their vision. “Tuvius?” the batarian called, cautiously. Took a few shaky steps forward, towards where the turian had just been standing. “Tuvius?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tall silhouette, outlined against the snow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On instinct, four sets of guns barked as one, a crisp staccato that cut through the wind. The silhouette writhed, twitched, as it was perforated with bullets, pitched forward in a blood-soaked puddle. Lay still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” the batarian whispered. He took another few steps forward. The turian’s dead eyes stared upwards, a look of surprise frozen on his face. His neck had been twisted nearly all the way around. All four of the batarian’s eyes widened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” he repeated, turning. Far, far too slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The black and red shape materialized out of thin air, sliding out of a space between two buildings. There was a muzzle-flash and a pistol cracked twice and half of another turian’s head exploded in a cloud of red mist. A leg like a piston kicked the human merc’s knee out from under him, a bloody gauntlet reaching out to grab him by the throat and crush his windpipe with contemptuous ease. The vorcha tried to raise her rifle and was sent sprawling as the choking, gasping human was hurled into her like a living projectile. The black and red shape gunned them down without breaking her stride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The batarian threw down his rifle and started running, gasping in panic, in fear, his legs burning and his chest heaving. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If I can just make it to that storefront</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought. It was his last. The pistol cracked twice more and he pitched forward into the snow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The black and red shape stalked through the streets of the colony, and left a trail of death wherever she went. There was nothing left holding her back, now. No squadmates to look out for, no civilian casualties to concern herself with, no subtlety or guile to employ. This was war, red war, war to the knife. Up close, hand-to-hand, with no quarter asked for and none given. The kind of war Sybilla Shepard was built for, had been trained for, had spent her entire life honing herself for. This was the Skyllian Blitz, this was Horizon, it was London. It was the old days, the bad days, the all-or-nothing days. A friend - perhaps her only friend left in the galaxy - was out there, hurt or captured or killed. It would be blood for blood, and by the gallons. There were no choices left. There was nothing left but the kill.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Stubborn, Stupid, Brave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“We’re almost there,” T’Nere gasped, half-dragging the mostly-unconscious asari with one arm and the aid of her biotics, trying to keep what little blood was left in her still in her with the other. White lances of pain shot up her side every time she was forced to put weight on her right leg. A bullet whined past, nearly clipping her, ricocheting off the strongest bubble of biotic energy she could still focus on creating, a roiling lavender curtain around the two asari children running in front of her, glancing backwards with tearful eyes at their mother’s limp form. “We’re almost there,” she repeats, as much for herself as for them. Up ahead, she could hear disciplined volleys of rifle-fire, which meant at least a handful of Echo Team was still alive and in the fight, was still holding together this rapidly-collapsing zone. Another shot skipped past her, and then another, and then she heard a deafening volley of fire, steeled herself for the pain she knew was coming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sergeant! Sergeant!! Watch fire, boys; it’s the Sarge!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Omari Doll’s gruff baritone was the sweetest song she’d ever heard. The team had established a perimeter around a pair of shuttles, where bloodied, traumatized colonists were being shoved aboard. They could barely climb through the gunsmoke-shrouded, snow-covered bodies piled in waves around them, where a desperate stand had been made to save these people from torment and death. T’Nere couldn’t help but feel a fierce pride well up within her as she took a count of who was still standing: Dexicus, being fussed over by Laedros, his legs heavily bandaged. Will Plunkett, a heavy bandage over his right eye and a surprisingly stoic set to his jaw. Doll, missing an ear, throwing a burly arm around T’Nere, passing the asari doctor to Sandekan, who took the baby asari and guided them to the shuttle, his four eyes liquid with compassion, his voice surprisingly gentle. Vokrax and Yija laying down a steady stream of covering fire, the two comparing kill-counts like old campaigners while keeping the heads down of any mercs trying to intercept them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My squad,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought weakly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shepard will be so proud. Shepard will-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Skipper?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doll glanced backwards, towards where she’d come. “She’s not behind you? She said she was going after you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goddess.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>**Skipper? Ski-** The comm-bead whined, crackled. There was no answer. T’Nere’s stomach sank. The world seemed to reel around her. “We can’t leave. We have to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Doll’s craggy face, flooded with concern a moment ago, broke into a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A solitary shape, a loping figure in red and black, sprinting through the churning snowfall. Whip-cracks as her pistol barks in her hand, not turning to aim, seemingly finding targets by instinct and hearing alone. Her eyes are focused on the shuttles ahead, the doors closing, the blue-armored marines pulling back. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You stubborn, stupid, brave bitch.</span>
  </em>
  <span> T’Nere’s vision fogged, head hung heavy. Shepard’s nose looked like it had been broken, again, and there wasn’t a spot on her that wasn’t covered in dust or blood or ash. Her eyes looked slightly out of focus. She at least had the decency to be breathing heavily; she exhaled a ragged gasp as Doll slapped her on the shoulder-plate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn</span>
  </em>
  <span> good to see you, ma’am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard grinned a lopsided grin. “All accounted for, Sergeant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The asari coughed, slumping against Doll slightly. “No-one got left behind, Skipper. I made sure of that.” She glanced upwards at her friend, anger and relief in her violet-flecked eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard slung an arm around her, picking her up as if she were weightless, as her and Doll supported her across the frozen earth and into the waiting shuttle. “You trying to live forever, T’Nere?” she asked in a cracking, quiet voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached out, weakly, appreciatively, and squeezed Shepard’s forearm. “No ma’am.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“What the hell is going on here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard’s voice cracked like thunder in the confines of the shuttle bay, a voice that brooked no argument or defiance, that called to attention like a clarion, that demanded acknowledgement and obedience. The quarian marines took a few involuntary steps back at the strength of that voice alone, before they even comprehended who it belonged to. When the big, blood-soaked Spectre detached herself from the shadow of the Kodiak, they shrank back even further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain’s orders, ma’am,” one hazarded, stuttering over his words. “We were to check the Unionists for weapons, and keep them confined to the shuttle bay until we could-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Belay that,” Shepard snarled. “These people need rest, they need food, and they need medical attention, and they need it now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain </span>
  <span>Soru’Nal was very specific, ma’am-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> being very specific,” she hissed. “You tell Soru that-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, you rotten bitch</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Shepard groaned inwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The quarian captain swept into the shuttle-bay with a half-dozen marines. None of Echo Team, of course - her entire squad had been rushed to med-bay to deal with their various and serious injuries. Shepard herself had been swarmed by medics, but had refused to sit still until she’d seen to the wellbeing of the rescued civilians. She’d had a bad feeling as soon as she was hustled out of the cargo-bay, but this… this was not liable to end well. The pain in her head - and the rest of her - was making it difficult for her to make good decisions, she could recognize that. The fact that she was facing a half-dozen marines, led by a potentially hostile captain, and she was armed with nothing but her own nearly-depleted reserves of biotic energy, was not a reassuring thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soru,” Shepard forced the name through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?” She tried to keep her breathing steady, tried to keep her heartbeat under control. God, she was tired. Tired of fighting, and tired of this. It felt like she was supporting a mountain on her shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘May you stand between your crew and harm as you lead them through the empty quarters of the stars.’ That was the oath I swore, Shepard,” Soru’s voice was soft, but determined. “I must do what is necessary to safeguard ship and crew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soru, these people are not our enemies-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They are Unionists, Shepard. The Admiralty Board has declared them enemy combatants-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They are </span>
  <em>
    <span>civilians</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Soru!” Her voice rose to a shout. “They’ve just lost their homes, their friends, and now you want to treat them like an occupying force? Search them for weapons, keep them locked up down here while they freeze and bleed to death? Because of the paranoia and mistrust of a pack of old war-hounds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind her, she could hear alarmed movements, rustling as the civilians huddled in the shuttles. Shellshocked, tired, afraid. Plucked from the jaws of slavery and death, and delivered into the enemy. With nothing but a tired, battered woman between them, and whatever was waiting for them in the hands of the Republic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make me do this, Shepard.” There was a pleading note in Soru’s voice. “Don’t make me choose between my duty to the Republic and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what you know is the right thing to do?” Her eyes burned into the quarian’s faceplate. Her hands balled into fists, and she felt tiny pinpricks into her brain as her old, tired, worn biotic amp flared to life, producing just enough of a flickering, glimmering glow to illuminate her in the gloom of the shuttle bay, to throw her hawkish profile into stark contrast, into black and white. Light and dark. Life and death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two women stared at each other in silence as time seemed to slow, stretch into eternity. Shepard had every last ounce of strength balled up within her, coiled like a spring, like a hammer cocked back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seize the nonshape</span>
  </em>
  <span>, her asari biotic instructors had taught her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You are the ripple on still water. You are the spark in pure void. Find the peace of Athame. Seize the nonshape.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She shared into the tiny pinpricks of light in Soru’s faceplate, her eyes at once determined and beseeching. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t make me do it, Soru</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She willed the thought into her opposite’s mind, screamed it with every line in her aching body. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t make me kill you. Please.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Captain Soru’Nal didn’t break eye contact. Didn’t step back or step down. Merely snaked a hand out and forced the marine closest to her to lower his rifle. “If the Admiralty Board catches you, they’re going to shoot you this time, Agent Shepard,” the quarian said in a voice heavy with frustration and regard in equal measure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard exhaled in relief. Her hands unclenched, and the blue glow surrounding her faded after a second. Her nerves, however, still sang a song as shrill as a ship’s whistle. “Then they better not miss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you say ‘Shepard’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A stirring behind her, in the shuttles. Gasps of recognition, of wonder. Whispers. Murmurs. Shepard sighed again, closing her eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is the last thing I need</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was becoming impossible to hold herself up. She was suddenly aware of the wetness dripping down the side and front of her face, of the dull agony in her chest, in her thighs, of the soreness and fatigue and heartache. She took a few unsteady steps away, towards the elevator. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I need a shower, and I need to sleep for a week</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  <em>
    <span> And I should probably have this fracture in my skull looked a-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sybilla?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That voice. No…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned, sharply, suddenly, sending shockwaves of pain rippling through her hips, through her side, through her chest. It didn’t matter. She had heard a ghost’s voice, an angel’s, a voice that haunted her every sleeping moment and had now come for when she was awake. Blood-tinged eyes flitted around the gloomy shuttle-bay, scanning faces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sybilla..!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice again. Shepard blinked, bringing a hand up to her throbbing head, trying to banish the voice, trying to stop herself from sweating, from trembling, from hearing that voice, from being tormented further. Blinked again, and there were blue eyes staring at her. Blue eyes, filled with tears, liquid like all the shimmering oceans of earth from ten thousand kilometers up, blue like the skyline above Nos Astra in the evenings, like the moon over Thessia reflected in an Armali pool. Her face looks tired, worn, frightened, and her yellow dress is torn in a dozen places and there are bloody handprints on it and she’s limping but she’s stumbling over, slow and unsteady at first, and then Shepard realized she was limping to meet her, and then she realized that she was running, sprinting, crossing the floor of the shuttle bay in three long, loping strides. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t speak. Her eyes filled with tears and a ragged sound tore free from her lips as she grabbed onto the stumbling, weeping asari, crushed her against her bloody, burnt, bullet-riddled chestplate, both bodies heaving and convulsing with emotion as they grabbed onto each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddess… this can’t… you can’t be… I saw you…” Liara shook her head. She kept blinking, kept trying to prove to herself that this couldn’t be real, that she had to be dreaming, as tears streamed down her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promised you I’d come back,” Sybilla choked, voice catching in her throat. It felt like she was coming apart. Her shoulders shook, her chest felt like it would burst. Each breath was shakier, more ragged than the last. She knew the entire shuttle bay was watching, but didn’t care, couldn’t care. “I promised. I had to… had to find you. I never stopped looking, Bluebird. I never stopped looking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Liara sobbed. “I dared to hope, but after so long…” She crushed her head against Sybilla’s neck, pulled her as close to her as armor and arms would allow. “Oh, Goddess…” she wailed. “Oh, Sybilla. Oh, my love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like they stood there for a very long time, squeezing each other with all they had left, the asari sobbing uncontrollably and the human clinging to her like a drowning sailor clinging to a spar. At last, she felt Liara pull away from her a little, saw the apprehension in her eyes, the fear. “Sybilla… love, I never stopped loving you, but…” A fresh wave of tears poured out of her shining eyes. “There is something you must know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There is something you must know</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The words she’d prepared for for eleven years, that she’d been almost as afraid of hearing as ‘We’ve found the Normandy. There were no survivors.’ A rapidly-building migraine screamed at her from behind her temples. She sucked in a shaky breath. “It’s okay. Liara… it’s… it’s okay. If you’ve… You thought I was dead, if you’ve…” She could barely get the words out. “If you’ve moved on…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she could finish the sentence, the asari’s hands were at the side of her head, her lips crushing against hers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, God…</span>
  </em>
  <span> Even through the iron stench of blood and the reek of dust and ash and sweat and cordite, the burnt-copper, ozone stench of space around them, Liara still tasted like wild honey, still smelled like pomegranates. Her hands on her cheeks were cool and soft and smooth like bare feet against ocean pebbles, her lips sweet and pliant and urgent against her own. She felt herself tremble, shudder, felt the heat flood through her, the need for her. For this. It tore like a fresh wound when she pulled away again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she whispered, her voice low and throaty. “No, no, no. You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sybilla Reem, and I am yours, forever and always. That will never change. But…” She breathed, unsteadily, and Sybilla could see her fighting to maintain even these flagging scraps of composure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sybilla, when you… when you ran towards the Citadel, to activate the Crucible, we all thought you died. And when we were stranded and crashed, and I thought that we would never see </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> again, would never leave that planet, I needed something to cling to, something to remember you by, honor you.” She was speaking very fast, and tears were glistening in her eyes again. “And so I… I made a decision. Perhaps rashly, but… but now you and I must live with my decision.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sybilla stood statue-still, trying to comprehend what her bondmate was trying to tell her, her mind a fog, the pain of her injuries threatening to take her off her feet, the pain of her sorrow and fear and the sheer exhaustion from the fight and the search and all the years between the last time she had seen her truest love like an anchor around her neck. Her heart jackhammered in her chest. Her eyes felt like they must be very wide. She felt Liara’s cool, reassuring hand against her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sybilla, you… we… we have a family, together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“... loves you very much,” the mother was whispering. She smooths out their foreheads and plants a kiss on each of them. “Never, ever doubt that, my darlings, my Little Wings. Your father loves you so, so much. And one day… one day…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A strangled sob escaped her lips. Sybilla could feel her teeth chattering, her hands trembling. Her whole body shook. She blinked back years, searching Liara’s face for confirmation, a look somewhere between pure joy and pure terror struggling for control over the sides of her. “We have..? We have a..?” Her bondmate nodded, glowing, a tremulous, nervous smile filling her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, my love. Two.” Her hands reached out, found Sybilla’s. She squeezed them, reassuringly. “Benezia and Aethyta. They will be twelve, this year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on command, at the sound of their names a pair of tiny blue figures seemed to materialize at their mother's side, seemed to step through the haze of tears rapidly welling up in Sybilla's eyes. They looked so small, so impossibly fragile, their little scalp-crests adorably underdeveloped, their skin still mottled, pebbly, the bridge of their noses freckles just so. They were identical in appearance but Sybilla could already, instantly see the differences in personality; feigned haughtiness masking a tremulous heart, a brassy protectiveness, a lopsided grin that seemed all too familiar. They looked hungry, and tired, and scared, and clung to Liara's legs as they stared up at Sybilla with green, green eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sybilla Shepard vaguely felt herself sink to her knees, wrapped up in the orbit of those two sets of identical emerald eyes. It felt like watching her body from behind a pane of glass. She felt, rather than heard the anguished sound that came out from within, as what she had spent four thousand plus days containing spilled out helplessly from her mouth. Her fingers dug into the grated floor beneath her, trying to steady herself as she flailed, as she fell, as she felt Liara's arms wrap around her, holding her as she wept and wept, wept like she hadn't since she was a child herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They have my eyes," she managed, between sobs. Terror, and wonder, and hope. For the first time in a long time, hope. Liara just held her, murmuring soft reassurances in her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shhh, it's okay," the asari whispered to her bondmate. "We're home. We're home."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>End of Part I. Regular updates will resume in a few days!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Butterflies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Liara, in shock from the attack on Supay, spends much of the following morning reflecting on past events. Sybilla dives head-first into fatherhood.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>**All fleets, all fleets, the Crucible is armed and preparing to fire! Disengage and return to the rendezvous point!**</p><p>Liara stumbled through the Normandy CIC as if she were in a dream. There was a ringing in her ears, an atonal drone that swallowed up the frenetic chatter of the deck crew, of gunners manning GARDIAN stations, of a drive core pushed to the limit. Flashes and dark shapes swirled past portholes, flickering stars and cold debris and red-hot lances of burning death. Crewmembers rushed past her, parted like wind through a tall grass to make way for her, but none could bare to meet her eye. The Normandy banked and spun and twirled like a leaf on the wind, like a dandelion drifting on the current of a storm. At normal times even with the gravity compensation her stomach would have lurched, turned at the aeronautical display. She should have felt sick, felt dizzy. She felt nothing.</p><p>**All fleets, disengage!** Hackett's gruff, gravelly voice again, over the comm-network. **Get the hell out of there!**</p><p>
  <em> “Whatever happens…” She stumbled over the words. A gloved hand, still warm, caressed the asari's cheek. “Whatever happens… you’re my whole world. I love you, Little Wing.” </em>
</p><p>Sybilla was gone. It was the only thing playing about in her mind, the only spar she could cling to, the only coherent thought that would form. Of a city street, of shadows and blood, of that monstrous shape appearing in the gloom, those arachnid eyes burning in the dark, burning into them, scything through them with tongues of flame hotter than hell. She remembered being smashed to the ground by… something, remembered coughing blood and being unable to breathe, unable to put weight on her leg, and then remembered Sybilla cradling her, Sybilla holding her, Sybilla passing her into Garrus’ strong arms, Sybilla reaching out to touch her cheek. Sybilla telling her she loved her. Sybilla running out into the night, into the jaws of death, to do what had to be done, to finish what had been started. One last, desperate charge, with the galaxy at stake, to save them all. Sybilla running down that hill, alone, Harbinger looming over her. All alone, in the end. All alone.</p><p><em> You promised, </em> an angry voice inside her smouldered. <em> You promised me you’d always come back. </em></p><p>Joker's hands were a blur, his attention razor-focused on a dozen screens, on the display before him. Deadly pulses of light streaked out from above, clouds of flotsam and jetsam and burnt-out wrecks of starships loomed ahead of them. He barely seemed to register as he guided the ship with preternatural alacrity, threading needles no-one could even see, his fingers flying as skillfully as the ship. Liara edged closer. There was a voice, lost in the drone, telling her to come back. A gentle hand on her arm. She shrugged it off, let it fade away. She was in shock, she knew, could recognize the signs, but could do nothing about it, couldn’t even stop herself. It was like watching herself move through a pane of glass, beating her palms against it, screaming, with nobody to hear. Surrounded by people, she was all alone.</p><p>"Joker," Kaidan's voice, weak and weary. He stood with his back to her, his eyes locked on the glowing, building, burning halo of light settling around the Citadel. His hands were balled at his sides, knuckles white. He looked like he'd aged a hundred years in the last few hours of desperate, bloody conflict. "Joker, we have to go."</p><p>"The hell we do!" Joker snapped. "She's still in there, we have to-"</p><p>"Look, I know.” Kaidan’s voice shook. Somehow, his gaze didn’t waver. “But we have to.”</p><p>"We have to save her! <em> I </em> have to save her! She'd come back for us. She'd come back for any one of us!" His voice was breaking.</p><p><em> “Whatever happens… you’re my whole world. </em>"</p><p>"Jeff."</p><p>The two soldiers fell silent as she stepped, stumbling, into the cockpit. Both struggled to keep their expressions neutral, but she could see the agony in them, the sorrow, the anger, bubbling just below the surface. Tears brimmed in Joker’s eyes as he looked to her, then to the Citadel, then back to her. He shook his head helplessly, frustratedly. She leaned onto his chair, resting a hand on his shoulder lightly.</p><p>
  <em> "I love you, Little Wing." </em>
</p><p>"Jeff, it's okay," she managed. Her voice caught, trembled. The cockpit swam as her eyes brimmed with tears that wouldn’t quite come. "It's okay."</p><p>Joker opened his mouth but no words came out. His eyes fell, unable to bear the sadness in her gaze, the distance. As if of their own volition, his hands reluctantly turned back to the controls, moving with the same skill but none of the life, none of the energy or the love. It had been stolen from him. It had been stolen from all of them.</p><p>The three of them watched as an explosion rocked the Citadel, as the boiling point of light seemed to coalesce around the tower where the Crucible had docked. Where Shepard was, all alone. Watched as the fleets pulled back, as the ponderous shapes of Reapers arrayed themselves to pursue, to finish what they had started, to cleanse the Cycle of organic life. Watched as one by one, as that boiling orange glow pulsed into each Reaper, the hateful red light drained out of them.</p><p>Watched as first the Citadel, then the Crucible, then Earth faded, as the Normandy peeled away, as that orange glow rippled outward like a wave, like a storm.</p><p>
  <em> "Whatever happens, you're my whole world." </em>
</p><p>“You did it,” Kaidan whispered, voice raw and rough. Tears streamed down his dust-stained cheeks. There was a fierce pride in his gaze. “You stubborn stupid brave bitch, you did it.”</p><p>Joker’s hand hovered over a holo-panel, hesitated, as the Normandy prepared to hit faster-than-light speed, to hit the mass relay, to make the final jump. “Goddammit, Shepard…” He shook his head, shook himself. “Goddammit.” He hit the panel, and the stars swirled around them.</p><p>Liara felt a three-clawed hand find hers, give it a squeeze of support. The looming figure of Garrus appeared over her, his arm around her protectively, lovingly. He couldn’t look her in the eye, couldn’t look at the rapidly-vanishing Earth or the station that was orbiting it, the station that was even now going up in flames. She could feel the tremble in his carapace as he held her, head dipped in anguish, trying to remain strong for the both of them. She leaned back into the hug, the two of them standing there silently, shaking, as the woman they both loved, as near-sister and bondmate, respectively, disappeared in a billowing bloom of cosmic light. “Let’s get you back to the med-bay,” the turian said in a very small, far-away voice, steering her gently away from the window.</p><p>"<em> Whatever happens…" </em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Liara awoke in an unfamiliar darkness, surrounded by a faint, ever-present hum. For a panicked second, she thought she was back on the Normandy; doomed to re-live those terrifying three years during the War, to watch the galaxy she knew be torn apart over and over, to watch the ones she love be taken from her. Her trembling hands found something in the dark; a lean shape, familiar to her touch, a soft, warm sheath over an iron core, divots and scars and dimples that she knew as well as her own body. The shape shifted towards her, and she felt strong arms wrap themselves around her, pull her in closer. A soft kiss on her forehead. Liara reached out and felt the outline of a jaw, traced a broken nose, a soft cheek. </p><p>“I’ve got you,” a rough voice whispered in the dark, a voice as familiar to her as walking through the front door of her childhood home. “You’re safe.”</p><p>Liara craned her head up, glanced over Sybilla to the other two tiny figures sharing their bed. Aethyta and Benezia were as inseparable asleep as they were awake; they clung to each other, Benezia hugging her sister fiercely, the both of them nestled firmly against Sybilla’s side. The sight of all three of these people she loved most in the universe, together at last, in relative peace and safety, made her want to burst into happy tears all over again.</p><p>“You can’t sleep?” Liara murmured tiredly, burrowing deeper atop Sybilla’s breast, draping an arm over her abdomen, drawing in her warmth, wishing desperately to be closer to her, wishing she had the strength, the energy, to meld with her.</p><p>“I don’t want to close my eyes,” Sybilla admitted in a small voice. “I… I’m afraid this will have all been a dream.”</p><p>Her heart felt tight as love and sorrow gripped her in equal measure. With a soft sigh Liara remembered the last time they were separated, how she'd stayed up all night just watching Sybilla breathe, arms wrapped protectively around her, terrified to blink in case something happened to her in the night. She rested a cool hand against Sybilla’s cheek before wrapping her arms around her once more. </p><p>“Sleep, love,” she cooed. “Sleep. We’re here now. You aren't alone anymore.” She held her bondmate as tightly as she dared, mindful of her injuries. "You aren't alone anymore." An image of her mother, when she was a child, flashed before her eyes. Of Benezia, so beautiful and kind, looking down on her, a hand on her cheek, a smile in her eyes, singing to her as she drifted off to sleep under the Thessian stars. Singing…</p><p>Liara lifted her voice ever so softly, vocalizing the asari lullaby her mother had sung to her, giving voice to her joy and her grief, singing for her mother and her long-lost bondmate and the children they’d made together.</p><p>“I see the moon, the moon sees me,<br/>
Shining through the boughs of the isthir tree,<br/>
Goddess let the light that shines on me,<br/>
Shine on the one I love…”</p><p>Sybilla closed her eyes, a tiny smile creeping across the corner of her lips. Her breathing slowed, calmed, and Liara rested her head against her chest, felt it rise and fall, felt the rhythm meld with her own breath, with her own heartbeat. <em> Goddess. I’m home. I’m finally home. </em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em> There was a book on her desk when she returned. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Liara glanced about her quarters, seeing nothing out of place, nothing amiss in the small, spartan side-lab she’d claimed as her own quarters since coming aboard the Normandy. It had suited her just fine, more than fine; it was quiet, out of the way, it was close to the med-bay where she could converse freely with Dr. Chakwas, with whom she had found a kindred spirit, and more importantly, it was out of eyesight of the rest of the crew, half of which seemed to find her an odd curio and the other half a dagger poised at their back. Liara knew not all humans were like these Alliance marines, knew these trained soldiers and officers were more hyper-vigilant, more on edge due to the dangerous and secretive nature of their vessel and their mission. It didn’t make it any easier to hear the whispers around corners when they thought she couldn’t hear or was too wrapped-up in something, to hear “alien” and “Benezia” and “Saren” thrown about, along with suspicious glances, less-than-warm greetings. She could feel the mistrust and disdain every time Gunnery Chief Williams or Navigator Pressley look at or spoke to her. At least Lieutenant Alenko was cordial. And Dr. Chakwas, to be fair, had been quite kind. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But then there was Shepard. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The tall, tawny woman awed and terrified her in a way she had a difficult time comprehending. Liara had known soldiers before, had grown up around her mother's household coterie of commandos. She had always admired their seemingly predatory elegance, the supple, deadly grace with which they carried themselves, the haughtiness that accompanied the ability to kill at will and the conscious decision not to. This human made those huntresses seem like tame housecats in comparison; a lioness, sleek and lethal and possessed of a single-minded direction and focus. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Which had made it all the more jarring when earlier, while on a ground mission Shepard had insisted Liara accompany her on, they had stopped for a full hour to watch the migration path of a billowing, drifting cloud of yellow-and-white-winged insects, drifting carelessly on the breeze. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The intel hadn't been particularly accurate from the start: batarian extremists, or a mercenary extortion ring, operating too close for comfort for an Alliance eezo mining operation. Hackett's tone on the communicator had made it plain he didn't judge this mission worthy of a Spectre's attention, but someone in the Alliance did. The camp had been six kilometers away from the navpoint Alliance command had 'helpfully' provided, and looked to have been empty for some time. Chief Williams had seemed bored, obviously disappointed at the lack of action, shooting furtive glances towards Liara as if this was somehow her fault. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And then Shepard had found the things she and Williams had, in an awe-struck tone, called "butterflies." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The hemisphere they landed on had a temperature, boreal climate that faintly reminded Liara of visiting the seemingly-endless mountain ranges of Palaven when she'd been a child, filled with rolling green-grey hills, stately coniferous trees and cool, swift-running rivers. From out of a clear, blue, cloudless sky the insects had come, like a shifting, shimmering flower floating down from the highlands to dance among the green fields of clover. Shepard had immediately pulled over the Mako, the three of them clambering out of the armored vehicle in quiet wonder as thousands, tens of thousands of these delicate, petal-like creatures had flitted around them, past them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It was, truly, one of the most beautiful things Liara had ever seen; the way the light of the low, orange sun danced on their flickering wings, the way they seemed to flit as if propelled by some unseen current, marionettes on invisible strings, twisting and twirling like dancers. And here were these two human women, these soldiers who seemed to spend their days field-stripping and re-assembling rifles and taking their physical training routines to newer and more strenuous heights, rendered as speechless as she was. I’ve misjudged them, Liara thought with a pang of guilt. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Butterflies,” Williams breathed, eyes wide as saucers. “Are these butterflies? Like on Earth, ma’am?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I think so,” Shepard mused. “I was never on Earth long enough to... I’ve only ever seen butterflies in the vids.” She held a finger out, gingerly. After a moment, one of the magnificent little flower-insects landed atop it, fluttering its wings from its new perch. All three exhaled, captivated. Liara marveled how someone so adept at violence, so seemingly and entirely focused on war, could have such a delicate touch, could seem so touched on an emotional level even by the standards of the unparalleled natural beauty surrounding them. And then Shepard had muttered something in a spellbound voice, something that sounded like: </em>
</p><p><em> “A power of Butterfly must be -<br/>
</em> <em> The Aptitude to fly<br/>
</em> <em> Meadows of Majesty concedes<br/>
</em> <em> And easy Sweeps of Sky.” </em></p><p>
  <em> Chief Williams glanced over at her commanding officer, a surprised expression on her face and in her voice. “Shakespeare, ma’am?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Liara could hear the smile in Shepard’s own voice. “Dickinson.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Was that… human poetry?” Liara blurted out, unable to control the tremble in her voice. She’d never heard human poetry before, and had never imagined to have heard it first from these two humans. Who were they? Had she so entirely mischaracterized the both of them? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yes.” Shepard lifted her finger higher, and the insect leapt from its perch, into the blue. “A woman named Emily Dickinson wrote that oh… three hundred years ago? It’s a little different from asari poetry, I know. Human poetry - well, some human poetry - tends to rhyme.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Do you know much asari poetry, ma’am?” Williams teased. Shepard laughed alongside her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “A little. But I won’t humiliate myself - or an actual asari - with my butchery of the Ricce dialect.” She flashed an emerald wink at Liara. Liara felt her cheeks color. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There had been a lightness, an easiness, to the return journey, despite the technical failure of the mission. Though few words were exchanged, the two human woman and the asari maiden had all experienced something together, shared something. Williams had even stopped giving Liara suspicious glances. And then, the spell had seemingly been broken upon their arrival on the Normandy. Shepard was all business, ordering a full maintenance cycle and re-calibration of the Mako, contamination protocols for their armor, an updated duty roster. With the deck of her ship beneath her feet once more, she was Commander Shepard again, and Liara had felt a twinge of sadness as she returned to her duties, wondering if she’d ever have another opportunity to spend time with not just Commander Shepard, but the woman who could recite poetry and stood awe-struck amidst a cloud of butterflies. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And then she’d found the book. </em>
</p><p><em> It was a </em> book <em> , not a data-pad, and felt old, felt well-traveled. The exterior was bound in some kind of cured animal hide. The pages were gilt, and thick, and heavy, and as Liara thumbed through them she could almost feel the imprint of those who had done so before her. Raised letters on the cover spelled ‘The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson.’ A strip of ribbon set one page out apart from the others. She turned to it, and felt the smile creep across her face as she caught the title of the poem Shepard had quoted earlier: ‘From the Chrysalis.’ Exhaling, with hands trembling only slightly, she sat and began to read. </em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Stretching as she yawned, Liara reached out to touch her bondmate, and found their bed empty.</p><p>Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she glanced around the spartan chamber. The tiny bed that the four of them had somehow shared through the night was a rumpled mess. That was little surprise: all four of them had been covered in snow and ash, and though they’d groggily tried to clean Sybilla up in the tiny attached bathroom, there was a fair amount of her dried blood on the sheets. It was a definite downgrade from the cabin the Normandy SR-2 crew had affectionately referred to as “the loft,” or even the spacious Captain’s quarters aboard the SR-1. A single bed, a small circular porthole, a footlocker, what could, if you squinted, pass as a desk. Liara knew Sybilla was scarcely what, to use the human expression, one could call a “homebody,” but she could tell the human was pushing herself harder than usual based on her surroundings alone. Even on her military postings, Sybilla had added some touch of her personal self to her quarters - books, her violin, the fish she insisted she scarcely had time for but fastidiously fed - but here, in this cramped corner cabin, there was next to nothing. A data-pad flashed on a short table on Liara’s side of the bed. Almost reflexively she reached out and picked it up; the first thing that flashed was an image of the two of them, taken on the Citadel’s Presidium. Sybilla had worn a green dress with short sleeves and a high collar, had worn her hair down, and Liara had been staring at her dreamily their entire date, enraptured by this unexpectedly feminine side of her she so rarely saw. Sybilla’s hands were trembling, as she had entwined her fingers with the maiden, had looked down at her with eyes that shimmered like the treetops of an Armali grove, had knelt down in front of her on the green, green grass, and in a soft, slightly shaking voice had asked her… had asked her…</p><p>She blinked back tears at the memory, before seeing the note left for her on the data-pad’s lock screen.</p><p>
  <em> “Girls were hungry, took them to find breakfast. Love you. S.” </em>
</p><p>She hugged the pad to her breast for a moment, heart full to bursting.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Dressed and washed as best as she could manage in yesterday’s bloodied coat and an exceedingly limited space, Liara tentatively explored the decks of this ship she still did not know the name of. By the design she guessed it might have originally been quarian, though the crew seemed to her remarkably integrated: quarian engineers and turian ratings exchanged duties, while salarian marines guarded stations and human officers relayed commands. Liara remembered seeing at least one krogan and batarian on the ground team that Shepard had led. <em> Not to mention the asari </em>, she thought, wondering where her purple-skinned kinswoman was, if she was recovering from her wounds in comfort. The crew seemed to give Liara a wide berth, making room for her in corridors while whispering to each other when they imagined themselves out of earshot. It reminded her of the Normandy, and that thought was accompanied by a twinge of sadness.</p><p>"Doctor T'Soni! Doctor T'Soni!"</p><p>A flash of coppery hair and pale skin. Alexandra Ashford, one of her neighbors - <em> former neighbors, </em> she thought with a pang of sadness - ran over to her through the hall and wrapped the maiden up in a surprisingly tight embrace. "I didn't see you with the other colonists. I was so worried-"</p><p>"Oh, Miss Ashford," she managed, somewhat awkwardly. "I am relieved to see you safe." Ashford was - had been - one of the colony's technicians. She'd helped her implant Benezia and Aethyta's omni-tools and translators. Her family had lived on Supay for generations. <em> And now she might never be allowed to return. Goddess. </em>"Have you rested? That eye looks like it needs-"</p><p>"The ship's doctor… the ship's <em> quarian </em> doctor," she confided in a scandalized tone, "said I'd be fine in a few days. The medi-gel is just starting to set. I didn't think they were going to help us, until your… friend… intervened. Is it true, Dr. T'Soni? Did we get rescued from slavers only to be imprisoned by the Federation?”<br/>
“Sybilla would never allow that to happen,” Liara said firmly.</p><p>As she watched her former neighbor depart, Liara reflected that it had been several years since she’d been aboard a ship. Not since-</p><p>“Doctor T’Soni?”</p><p>Another former neighbor. Yves Bloom. He’d been a businessman, before the War, Liara remembered. He used to play the fiddle. <em> Just like… </em></p><p>“Doctor T’Soni, where is this ship taking us? When can we go home? I am not ungrateful to your friends - far from it - but…”</p><p>“I will do my best to find out,” she promised. “When the pirates depart, when it is safe…”</p><p>“Doctor T’Soni?”</p><p>Eileen. Was it Eileen? Eileen Brogdan.</p><p>“Doctor T’Soni, my husband Isaac…”</p><p>A pang of sorrow. "I am so sorry, Mrs. Brogdan, but Isaac… I did all I could for him…"</p><p>“Doctor T’Soni, are we sure we can trust these Federation types?”</p><p>"Doctor T’Soni' have you seen my..?"</p><p>"Doctor T’Soni, where are-"</p><p>“Doctor T’Soni…”</p><p>"Doctor T'Soni!"</p><p>"Doctor T'Soni?"</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Liara sat with her knees pressed to her chest in the darkness of Sybilla's quarters, her breast rising and falling as she struggled to control her breathing, the pounding of her heartbeat. She scarcely noticed her fingers digging painfully into her legs, or the way her entire frame trembled as she sat, huddled, as the faces and voices of all those people out in the hall washed over her. As the faces and the voices of those people she’d never see again washed over her. <em> Goddess, </em> she shuddered, rocking back and forth. <em> It had been so long since… I thought all the terror of the War was behind me. </em> She barely noticed when the door chimed, when three familiar figures stepped into the room.</p><p>“Hey Birdie, are you awake? ‘Nezzie and ‘Tia and I- Liara?”</p><p>Sybilla was across the room in a heartbeat, strong arms scooping her up and pressing her against her breast, and Liara gratefully let herself just melt into that embrace, let her eyes slide closed as her body sagged and heaved, craving her touch, craving the security and assurance that accompanied it.</p><p>“Hey, you’re safe,” she whispered in an unsteady voice. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, shivering in Sybilla’s arms, her bondmate holding her, gently rocking her back and forth, one hand stroking her crest soothingly. At first, Aethyta and Benezia, looking frightened and confused for their mother, had wrapped themselves around her legs, but soon her bright, beautiful children had grown restless and scooted up higher in the bed, nestling against Sybilla’s legs as their father spoke to them in a low voice. As she slowly dragged herself out of the depths of her anxiety attack, slowly became more attuned to her surroundings, she latched onto that voice like a beacon in dark places, like a lifeline in stormy waters. What started off as a desperate climb back to reality lessened, loosened, and Liara felt the tension begin to melt away felt her fear and panic and pain melt away. Finding her way back to the present became as comforting as slipping into cool, calm waters. She let out a long, shuddering breath and let herself lose herself in Sybilla’s voice.</p><p>“I was very surprised to see a light break over the face of my young judge,” Sybilla spoke, her voice low and thoughtful, her head dipped over the dimmed screen of the cracked data-pad she kept at the side of the bed. Aethyta and Benezia were nearly nose to nose with their father, green eyes entranced with not the shifting letters on the screen but with their father’s face, her nose, her eyes, the way her lips moved. Liara could still feel her other hand idly stroking her crest. Curious at the story she was reading, the asari nestled closer.</p><p>"That is exactly the way I wanted it! Do you think that this sheep will have to have a great deal of grass?</p><p>"Why?</p><p>"Because where I live everything is very small…</p><p>"There will surely be enough grass for him,” I said. “It is a very small sheep that I have given you.</p><p>He bent his head over the drawing:</p><p>"Not so small that−− Look! He has gone to sleep...</p><p> And that is how I made the acquaintance of the little prince…”</p><p>Sybilla’s eyes shimmered in the dark as she looked down on the two little asari, cuddled close to her, spellbound by her reading. Liara watched her lean in and kiss their daughters on the forehead with a tenderness that squeezed her chest like a vice, her throat catch and her lip quiver with pure, raw emotion. Reaching out to cup her bondmate’s cheek, the maiden pulled her human’s head downward, straining upward to press her lips against hers, to taste every millimeter of her sweet lips, to lose herself in them. She faintly heard herself whimper as she, shuddering, leaned deeper into the kiss, pulled Sybilla’s head down farther, threaded her fingers through that silky black hair…</p><p>“Motherrrrrrr, eew,” Benezia groaned, as her sister giggled.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“It would be okay if you wanted to stay here,” Sybilla reminded her, as they readied themselves to make another attempt to leave her quarters. “I have light duties that need attending, but nothing overly lengthy or complicated, and…”</p><p>“It was a momentary, if overwhelming, sensation, my love,” Liara replied, giving her bondmate’s hand a squeeze. “I am fine, truly. I should make sure my people are well, that they are being seen to.” She glanced suddenly back up at Sybilla. “Not that I think your crew would-”</p><p>“They aren’t my crew, not exactly,” Sybilla chuckled. “I’m back to being another mid-level Navy officer, like when we met. ‘Your’ people, though? Don’t tell me you’ve become a politician, after all.” Her eyes danced with amusement.</p><p>Liara huffed. “It is… a long story.”</p><p>She felt a hand squeeze hers in return. “I look forward to hearing it. I’ve missed…” Liara heard her lover’s voice catch. “I’ve missed too much. Too much.”</p><p>Her heart twisted. “It isn’t your fault, my love,” she whispered.</p><p>They stood in silence for a few moments, seeming to stretch on and on. Sybilla’s eyes downcast, her face drawn. Then, in a slightly strained voice: “Can I take the girls? I’d like to show them the bridge. Show them around the ship. Give you a chance to eat something...” The way she rubbed the back of her neck, almost bashful… </p><p>
  <em> Goddess, I love this woman. </em>
</p><p>“Sybilla,” she stifled a laugh. “They are <em> our </em> daughters, you needn’t ask. After all, I’ve scarcely had a break from watching over them in over a decade.”</p><p>“So then, it’s going to be my turn for awhile?” Those green eyes said there was nothing she’d love more. It was enough to make the asari weak in the knees.</p><p>“‘Tia, ‘Nezzie, want to come see the bridge with me?” The human’s face broke into a wide smile as she bent down to address their daughters.</p><p>“We’ve been on ships before, father,” Aethyta said indignantly. “I’ve seen a bridge.”</p><p>“Oh, right, right, my little travelers,” Sybilla rolled her eyes. “I suppose you wouldn’t be interested in meeting the Captain, then, maybe sitting in the command chair… Naw, couldn’t be.”</p><p>“Can we fly?” Benezia asked hopefully.</p><p>“We’ll see what kind of mood Soru’s in, first.” The lopsided grin returned. Sybilla grabbed both girls’ hands in her own, leaned down to give Liara a quick but heated kiss, and then was gone again, leaving a smile and an emerald wink lingering in the doorframe.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A few notes/references:</p><p>The poem Sybilla quotes is From the Chrysalis by Emily Dickinson</p><p>Ricce - Regional asari name for the dialect spoken in Serrice</p><p>Supay - Fifth planet in the Matano system, Maroon Sea cluster of the Attican Traverse. An ice dwarf, rich in potable water. The Attican Union colony on Supay was home to some sixty or seventy colonists inhabiting a former ExoGeni terraforming facility. </p><p>The story Sybilla reads Aethyta and Benezia is a translation of Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. </p><p>The Moreh<br/>Quarian Frigate; birth-ship of former Admiral Daro'Xen vas Moreh. Following the Admiral's death during the Reaper War, the ship was re-purposed for post-Crucible deep space reconnaissance and salvage by the Federated Galactic Republic.<br/>50 souls<br/>Captain Soru’Nal vas Moreh - Commanding Officer (CO)<br/>Agent Sybilla Shepard - Executive Officer (XO)<br/>Flight Lieutenant Hel'Lifin nar Moreh - Chief Helms Officer<br/>Chief Navigator Septimus Taliid<br/>Chief Medical Officer Ras'Taanis nar Moreh<br/>Chief Engineer Shaanne'Naal nar Moreh<br/>Chief Science Officer Orrirn Toxo<br/>Communications Officer Waese'Laaris nar Alarei<br/>5 CIC Officers<br/>8 Command Deck Technicians<br/>Staff Sergeant Saith T’Nere - Marine Detail Officer<br/>Warrant Officer Leel’Xaanis nar Moreh - Kodiak Pilot<br/>Will Plunkett - Combat Engineer<br/>Omari Doll - Combat Engineer<br/>Irakon Sandekan - Marine<br/>Faernan Yija - Marine<br/>Vokrax - Marine<br/>Cambia Laedros - Marine<br/>Flavian Dexicus - Marine<br/>Requisitions Officer Vidar Yerix<br/>20 Able Servicepersons</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Victory, At Any Cost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Children aboard the Moreh seems to improve everyone's mood. Flashbacks to the 'Iera Incident,' first referenced in 'Steady Hands, True Aim, Swift Feet.' Sybilla throws herself head-first into fatherhood.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about having children on the bridge,” Shepard admitted, leaning on the side of a console as she watched Benezia and Aethyta stare into the glittering nebula before them, their rapt attention on a turian navigator showing them how he plots the Moreh’s progress through the empty quarters of space. <em> “We’ve been on ships before, father.” </em> A grin cracked her bruised jaw, remembering Aethyta’s haughty expression mere minutes earlier.</p><p>“But you did so, anyways,” Soru’Nal said impassively. The quarian Captain was leaned in an identical pose, also watching the two young asari. Shepard could <em> feel </em>, rather than see, the cocked eyebrow behind that inexpressive glass faceplate. After a moment, the Captain shook her head slightly. “This is a quarian ship, Agent Shepard. Before… before, we had many children aboard the Moreh. Many families.”</p><p><em> Before </em>. She knew without the quarian saying so that the woman had been a mother. Knew without asking where her own children were what the answer would be. A pang of sorrow clutched at her heart. “I’m… sorry, Soru. I didn’t-”</p><p>“It is good to hear the laughter of children on my ship once more,” the quarian interjected. “It is what we fought for, is it not? Why we are fighting still. A future, for our children.”</p><p>Down below, the navigator was waggling his mandibles in what passed as a smile for a turian. It seemed to be infectious; the mood on the bridge was much more at ease, among the quarians in particular.</p><p>“A future,” Shepard agreed. A long pause hung between them. “Soru-”</p><p>“You were in the right, Shepard,” Soru interrupted again. “You were in the right and I did not see it. Again. You must understand… in the flotilla, obedience and duty is paramount. We quarians are much alike to turians, though the turians would never admit it. A quarian lives and dies for the flotilla. Save for when we are on our pilgrimage, we go where we are told, do what we are told. Always for the greater good of the Migrant Fleet.”</p><p>The quarian let out a heavy sigh. “I would have let those people die, Shepard. I would have let your bondmate and your children die. And all because I was not ordered to intervene.”</p><p>Shepard’s jaw twinged, and she could feel frustration and sadness twisting in her eyes. Her gut roiled with internal struggle. Part of her wanted to crack her faceplate open. Another part wanted to hug her. Instead, she gently squeezed the quarian’s shoulder.</p><p>“But you didn’t let them die, Soru. I asked you to help me and you did.” She leaned in, closer. “You helped me find my family, Soru. The Republic Admiralty board didn’t and what’s left of the Alliance didn’t. You, Captain Soru’Nal vas Moreh, did.”</p><p>The quarian was silent. Finally, she uncrossed her arms. She indicated towards the asari. "We will need to hold a debrief, and formulate a strategy for what we are going to report to the Admiralty Board. But… later, I think. You are tired, and the crew is tired, and we have all been through a great deal. We're going to slip into silent running mode on the far side of this cluster and ensure we have not been followed."</p><p>Another short pause as she searched Shepard's face. "I must confess, none of the vids prepared me for Commander Shepard, the dutiful mother." Her tone was lighter, less strained.</p><p>"Father," Shepard corrected with a wide grin. "You aren't the only one. I never imagined having children. Not until… well, let’s just say I never imagined a <em> lot </em> of things until I met Liara.”</p><p>“It must have torn you apart to spend so many years searching for your wife and children,” Soru offered, sympathetically. “I knew you were in search of your former crew. I did not realize that included your family.”</p><p>Shepard rubbed the back of her neck, sheepishly. “Well… I didn’t actually know I was a father until yesterday. I knew Liara was out there. I hoped and dreamed of her, every night. But my daughters? That’s… I still haven’t quite wrapped my head around these two.”</p><p>The quarina tilted her head, incredulously. “Shepard, that is… a lot to intake, all at once.”</p><p>“You’re telling me.”</p><p>A moment’s pause. “I mean no disrespect, but…”</p><p>“... but, am I sure they’re mine?” She barked a laugh, assuaging the Captain’s awkwardness. “Well, for one, those eyes and those freckles are one hundred percent pure Shepard. And, well, I’m no xenobiologist, but Liara and I <em> did </em> have the ‘birds and the bees’ talk about where little asari come from, and how. And uh, we’d melded enough for her to have mapped my DNA, obviously.”</p><p>“Obviously,” Soru repeated, flatly.</p><p>“But mostly?” Shepard let out a small laugh. Her eyes drifted back to her daughters. “This sounds crazy, but… while I was in the hospital, after… well, after. Right before I woke up, I dreamed about them. I dreamed of Liara, sitting under a tree, with two little babies in her arms. That’s… why I kept searching. That’s how I knew she was alive, and out there, somewhere.” She laughed again. “I know. It sounds crazy.”</p><p>“That does not sound crazy at all, Shepard,” Soru murmured gently.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The war-map was riddled with glowing red dots, blinking bullet-holes in a galaxy still afire. Seven sets of eyes stared in a tense silence as the reports continued to flood in, as the dots continued to cluster. In the one corner of the display, a number estimate in red continued to climb. In another, a number estimate in grey sank lower and lower.</p><p>Vice-Admiral Shepard didn't even see the grey number. She saw faces, names. Cities. Entire planets. An icy hand squeezed her chest, tempering the volcano of rage simmering just below her surface.</p><p>"Spirits," Septiria cursed. "Millions of them."</p><p>"Hundreds of millions," came a tenebrous rumbling from Criid. "Entire clusters, still flooded with Reapers.”</p><p>"We have made limited contact with resistance forces on Palaven and Sur'Kesh," Wenn'Taesa drawled. "Such that remain. They have managed to carry on the fight. And initial reports from Tuchanka are optimistic."</p><p>"And Thessia?" Shepard asked the question no-one else wanted to. There was a moment of terse, awkward silence.</p><p>"Less optimistic," Wenn'Taesa admitted quietly. "There are signs of insurgency forces’ activity, but we were unable to make contact. I sent four frigates. They weren't able to maintain safe orbit without risking discovery. Destroyer presence is… significant."</p><p>Shepard hissed in helpless rage. She paced like a caged tiger. "I'm sorry, Tevos."</p><p>The Matriarch's grey eyes were twin pools of liquid sorrow. "Admiral Wenn'Taesa has done all he could. As have you."</p><p>"It isn't enough," Dalatrass Aelbana cut in brusquely. The aged salarian ponderously shifted her weight on her grav-chair, her gemcutter eyes still fierce and piercing. "For the asari, for we salarians. We need to step up our efforts to reclaim Council space."</p><p>"With what ships? With what soldiers?" Hackett's gravelly voice was tinged with fatigue. Shepard watched her old friend with more than a little concern: he obviously wasn't sleeping. Not that she was herself, but he was twenty years her senior. "We barely have the operational strength to maintain our patrols of former Alliance space. And now with our expansions into the Traverse…" He trailed off, gesturing helplessly at the war-map.</p><p>Septiria and Aelbana exchanged a look. "We have had… discussions on this matter," the turian Primarch said slowly. "The Dalatrass and I believe the solution to lie within the problem, so to speak."</p><p>"Ah. Yes." Aelbana cleared her throat. "There is a largely as-yet untapped source of both materiel and personnel available to us. In the Traverse."</p><p>A silence fell over the boardroom as the Admirals contemplated the implications the turian and salarian war-leaders were making.</p><p>"No," Shepard said immediately. Her face was ashen. "No, absolutely not. I can't believe we're seriously discussing this."</p><p>"What <em> are </em> we discussing?" Criid grunted, irritated at being left out.</p><p>"We're talking about annexing the Traverse." Tevos was sitting upright, her normally placid expression shifting to one of concern. "Annexing those colonies that have survived the War."</p><p>"<em> Have </em> survived thus far, largely by the vigilance of Republic fleets," Septiria countered, her flanged voice as brash and abrasive as ever. "Were it not for the relief efforts coordinated by Vice-Admiral Shepard and Admiral Wenn'Taesa, many of these colonies would have withered on the vine. Or been overrun by Reaper remnants."</p><p>"Colonies abandoned by the Alliance during our tactical withdrawal, you mean," Shepard snarled. "Haven't these people suffered enough?"</p><p>"Sacrifices must be made for the greater good." The Dalatrass rubbed her hands together. "We have all sacrificed. You, more than any, Vice-Admiral."</p><p>"By choice!" She turned a pleading gaze on the others. "I <em> chose </em> to enlist. I <em> chose </em> to accept these responsibilities. These are civilians, non-combatants - we can't seriously-"</p><p>"Is anyone a non-combatant? At this point?" Criid wondered. "Long ago we krogan lost the distinction between soldier and civilian. Can we rely solely on volunteers to clear what's left of our homes?"</p><p>"Not if we're serious about re-taking Palaven." Hackett folded his arms with a heavy sigh. "Or Sur'Kesh. Or Thessia," he said pointedly.</p><p>"Republic boots and Republic blood keeps the Traverse safe," Septiria agreed. "These so-called Unionists are going to have to contribute to the fleets that keep the Reapers from their doorsteps."</p><p>"We abandoned these people to the Reapers," Shepard was adamant. "I was <em> in </em> those discussions. Hackett, so were you. And you and I can sit around a galaxy map and grudgingly agree that we need to sacrifice a few hundred thousand colonists here and there to save a few million in another part of space, but you try looking those people in the eye and explain the concept of brutal calculus during wartime when it's <em> their </em> children and friends and neighbors they watched be turned into husks."</p><p>"We did what we needed to." Septiria's voice was a quiet, dangerous snarl. "Every Council race sacrificed millions of lives to provide the fleets that saved <em> your </em> homeworld. And now you balk at sacrificing humans to re-take Palaven?"</p><p>"I balk at <em> conscripting </em> anyone to re-take Palaven." Shepard was practically shouting now. "Military service should be an aspiration, not an expectation - we didn't defend these people, and now you'd have me put a gun to their heads and force them to fight for a cause that abandoned them?"</p><p>"I will do anything and everything necessary to free my people from the Reapers," the turian Primarch folded her arms. "Victory at any cost. Die for the cause." Septiria glared daggers at the Spectre. "I remember a human Spectre who embodied that mantra so deeply she sacrificed herself twice for the Council she believed in. Were that she were here today."</p><p>In a blink, Shepard had taken three strides towards the turian. "Maybe I can arrange a meeting, Primarch," she spat. "Somewhere we wouldn't be bothered."</p><p>"Name your time and place," Septiria drew herself up to her full height, towering over the human. "Perhaps a third death might finally humble you."</p><p>"Our enemies are out there," Wenn'Taesa slapped a palm down on the table. "Keelah, let there be peace in here, both of you."</p><p>"We should call for a vote," Aelbana grunted. She peered at Shepard through slitted eyes. "An <em> Admiralty </em> vote."</p><p>Breast heaving in ire, Shepard glanced around at the others. Criid stood impassively, arms folded. Aelbana leered. Hackett looked weary, stared resolutely at his feet. Wenn'Taesa fidgeted in agitation. Septiria loomed over her. Only Tevos could meet her gaze. The asari Matriarch silently mouthed her support, nodded towards her in encouragement. Shepard gritted her teeth, felt a twinge of pain as the actuator in her jaw strained against the as-yet not fully healed flesh. </p><p>"I should go." She struggled and failed to keep the venom from her voice. Drawing herself up, she smartly and deliberately saluted towards Hackett and Tevos and toward Hackett and Tevos alone, and stormed from the chamber.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Now that we found you, are we going to your home? Is that where we’re going?” Benezia asked, studying her father’s face curiously. “Where <em> is </em>your home, anyways?”</p><p>“That’s… a good question,” Shepard smiled. “Two good questions. I suppose, technically, this ship is my home. Or has been, for over a year. As for where we’re going: wherever we want. That’s the beauty in life aboard a ship. We can go wherever we want.”</p><p>The young asari considered this for a moment as they walked the lengthy corridor between the bridge and the living quarters of the ship. The Moreh’s crew grinned and saluted as they passed, as much at the Spectre’s daughters as the Spectre herself. Having children on board seemed to bolster everyone's mood.</p><p>"Are we ever going back to our home?" Aethyta asked suddenly. "I miss my room. And my books."</p><p>Shepard let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know, Little Bird. It's… complicated."</p><p>She felt a tug on her arm, and looked down just in time to see Aethyta's eyes roll over black, just in time to feel a surprisingly strong metal push at the edges of her frayed defenses…</p><p>
  <em> A tree. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A blue sky. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>  The serrated teeth of mountains just brushing the feet of fluffy, blue clouds. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The smell of roses in the morning, citrus in the evening. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Laughter, like silver strings, plucked. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Something yellow, held triumphantly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "What's this? What's this?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "It is like an Earth-fruit, I think. Your father had a tree like this in front of her home, when she was younger than you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When she was…" </em>
</p><p>"Father?"</p><p>All Shepard could feel was a tingling sensation, like a million prickling needles ebbing and flowing up her spine, down her limbs. Her vision swam. She realized she was on the floor of the corridor, back against the wall, head in her hands. Two sets of green eyes stared intently at her, freckles faces scrunched up in confusion.</p><p>"Father?"</p><p>"I'm… okay," she managed. "Just… little warning next time, kiddo. That was… just not expecting that."</p><p>Aethyta's bottom lip quivered. "I'm sorry."</p><p>"It's alright. Hey, hey, hey, come here." She weighed so little, held against her chest, her tiny crests poking out into Shepard's shoulder. Blue fingers grasped at her, grabbing a fistful of shirt. "It's alright. Just… startled me, that's all. It's alright."</p><p>"Did you see our house?" Benezia demanded, brassily. "Did you show her?"</p><p>"Yes, she did," Shepard laughed. "C'mere, you." She grabbed the other asari to her, filling the hallway with her giggles of protestation.</p><p>"I saw the tree," Aethyta whispered. "<em> Your </em> tree. The one mother tried to grow. It wasn't warm enough, we had to build a greenhouse. Did you see?"</p><p>"I saw."</p><p>"<em> I </em> want to see! I want to see the yellow tree," Benezia pouted. </p><p>Shepard leaned in and blew a raspberry on her cheek until she giggled and kicked against her arm. "Don't pout." She took a deep, steadying breath. "Go on, then."</p><p>"Really?" her eyes widened.</p><p>"Yes, of cou-"</p><p>The eyes rolled to black.</p><p>
  <em> "Sybilla!" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The sun, warming her face. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A short shadow, from a short tree. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Drifting, undulating notes of a song, of a call, melding with the buzz of honeybees. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She chews another date, thoughtfully, her fingers and lips sticky. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It tastes of chocolate and cinnamon. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Sybilla? Come in for lunch!" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Above her, a vertical field of crimson. Sweet, and musky, and velvet. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A bearded face, among the blossoms. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Sybilla- there you are! Come in, silly girl. Don't ruin your appetite on dates." </em>
</p><p>"What's a date?"</p><p>Shepard blinked, her head spinning, the tingling sensation trailing down her neck this time. Both girls were wrapped firmly in her arms now, clinging to her chest, little crests pressed between neck and shoulder as they looked up at her. She shook off the wave of fatigue that was washing over, as if she'd traveled a great distance. Her tongue felt slow, sluggish in her mouth.</p><p>"It's a… little dried fruit. They grow in tall, tall trees on Earth. I used to eat them all the time. They're sweet and sticky. Just like you two," she grinned.</p><p>"I saw flowers. Red ones. And little insects," Benezia boasted. "And I heard a song."</p><p>"I wanna see the flowers! Father, is it my turn to see the flowers?"</p><p>"Girls, girls," Shepard laughed. "You're going to fry my brain at this rate."</p><p>Two sets of identical, adorable pouts.</p><p>"Monsters, both of you." She gave them each a squeeze, a kiss on the forehead. Her own cheeks hurt from smiling. "I'll tell you what. We're going to go check on my team in the med-bay, and then we'll head back to our room and I'll show you some more. Deal?"</p><p>The seriousness in their faces nearly broke her composure, and it took everything in her to hold back the laughter bubbling inside. "Deal."</p><p>Shepard put them down gently on the deck, rising with only a slight groan. Fatigue and pain shot through her sides and back, and she recalled that she hadn't exactly seen the ship's doctor about the injuries she'd sustained on Supay. <em> All the more reason to check on Echo </em>.</p><p>"You seem to be taking all this… a lot better than I would have, at your age," Shepard mused. "Me, coming into your lives unexpectedly. I'm practically a stranger."</p><p>"But… you're our father," Benezia said slowly. "How could you be a stranger?"</p><p>"We've known you our whole lives," Aethyta added. "We saw you. We talked to you. Mother showed us, every day."</p><p>Two pairs of little hands reached out to squeeze her own. It was suddenly very difficult to speak.</p><p>"Father…" Benezia's voice.</p><p>"Yes, Little Bird?"</p><p>"Are you… crying again?"</p><p>"I'm alright, Little Bird. I'm alright."</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"Status report."</p><p>Shepard leaned forward over the galaxy map of the UFV Beirut, eyes following the trailing red lines of the hypothesized telemetry of a trio of overdue vessels as she distractedly watched the bridge crew around her move in an orchestrated ballet of military precision. They were good: mostly Fifth Fleet veterans, with a handful of turian, quarian and salarian officers from their own scattered, shattered fleets filling in key positions lost during those final, harrowing hours over Earth. They were good, but they weren't <em> her </em> crew, and the distinction filled her with as much sorrow as it did professional pride. They weren't as good as her crew had been, would never be as good as her crew had been.</p><p>"Warp core's running a little hot, but still well within operational variance," came a lilting voice by her side. "Engineering is locking it down now. Showing a green light on all other systems. All hands on standby. Drift at just under sixty thousand k." The asari navigator sounded pleased with herself. <em> Joker would have gotten us in at under fifteen hundred, </em> she thought with a sad smile. <em> Even on this tub, a hundred times the size of the Normandy </em>. She nonetheless gave a nod of approval to her Chief Helms Officer.</p><p>"Good work, Flight Lieutenant Ereba."</p><p>The asari flushed. "Thank you, Commander. I mean, Skipper. I mean, Vice-Admiral."</p><p>"Commodore Quintus?" she glanced towards her turian XO, hunched over the long-ranged scanners. "Anything?"</p><p>"Nothing," he grunted after a long, frustrated pause. "These are, more or less, the exact coordinates all three beacons - the Chicago, the Unrelenting Fury, and the Tempest - switched off, at nearly the same time. But there's no debris field, and I don't see impact craters on any surrounding worlds from mass accelerator fire."</p><p>"That doesn't seem possible," the Beirut's navigator, Lieutenant Onwuache queried. "How do you capture three frigates without firing a single shot?"</p><p>"Perhaps they were boarded, or infiltrated from within," Ereba suggested. "A cadre of huntresses could capture a ship in such a manner with little difficulty."</p><p>"And were we at war with Thessia, I may entertain that idea," Quintus scoffed. "But these are Unionists we're discussing, not asari commandos. Largely untrained, under-equipped humans living in squalor at the fringes of civilized space."</p><p>"Untrained, under-equipped humans that captured three frigates without firing a shot," Onwuache countered.</p><p>"We're making a lot of assumptions. We have no idea <em> what </em> happened to those frigates; only that they failed three successive check-ins in Union space." Shepard folded her arms. "We don't know if they encountered Unionists vessels. We don't even know what, if anything, the Attican Union <em> has </em> for vessels."</p><p>"Intel suggests they now have at least three frigates," the turian grumbled.</p><p>"<em>Unconfirmed </em> intel," she reminded him. "Keep looking."</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"You should have come much sooner." Chief Medical Officer Ras'Taanis nar Moreh's expression, even through her faceplate, was disapproving. Strong, sure fingers parted Shepard's hair, and she winced and the sudden pressure on what was no doubt a throbbing weal. "Skull fracture," she announced dryly. "Three cracked ribs, multiple contusions. And this fleshy thing on your face has been broken so many times I am of a mind to remove it."</p><p>"I like my nose," Shepard said with a sullen defensiveness. "A prominent nose is a sign of beauty among my father's culture."</p><p>"In that case, perhaps you should cease wielding it as a blunt instrument," Ras'Taanis advised. "Contrary to your reputation, Agent Shepard, you <em> are </em> only human."</p><p>Though it was still early, the med-bay was a hub of activity. Every bed was claimed, and multiple sleeper-pods had been set up both inside and in the corridor, to accommodate the sudden influx of guests aboard the Moreh, nearly all of which were nursing either physical or psychological injuries. Ras'Taanis staff, already fairly stretched thin in the best of times, had recruited a number of crewmembers and colonists to help administer medication and comfort, and the air buzzed with observation drones checking on bedsides.</p><p>"How are the rest of Echo?" Shepard's voice was pitched low as she idly stroked Aethyta's crest. She and Benezia were sitting at her feet, wrapped up in The Little Prince being read to them from their data-pad.</p><p>"Yija and Vokrax have both been treated for minor abrasions and exhaustion and sent to recover in their bunks. Shirt, off." The quarian doctor began unwinding a supportive binding as Shepard grudgingly obeyed. "Plunkett has severe contusions around his windpipe and not-insignificant dust and smoke inhalation. Resting in a sleeper pod. I surgically removed the remains of Doll's ear. He can get a graft when we're back at the Citadel. How does that feel?"</p><p>"Tight," she wheezed. Truthfully it felt like her chest was trapped in a vice, but she didn't want to say so in front of her daughters.</p><p>"Good. Nose next. Head, up."</p><p>"And the others?"</p><p>A searing, blinding pain shot between Shepard's eyes as Ras'Taanis re-adjusted her broken nose. Her knuckles were white on the examining table as she hissed. </p><p>"Sandekan and Laedros were both concealing multiple gunshot wounds and have been treated. They are both currently resting in sleeper-pods. Sergeant T'Nere was in nearly as bad shape as you. She may need minor surgery. Dexicus…" The doctor sighed. "Significant bone damage to both legs, and he'll lose the right mandible. I may have to amputate. It will depend on how his body reacts to the surgery."</p><p>The doctor gently took her by the hand. Shepard realized she'd still been gripping the table. The edges were crumpled, like a discarded sheaf of paper.</p><p>"These are all injuries in my power to heal, Agent Shepard," Ras'Taanis spoke softly. "They will recover. Even Dexicus. And to hear their accounting of the mission, they will recover largely as a result of your actions. As will the colonists we rescued."</p><p>"Not all of them." A harsh, grating whisper. "I couldn't save all of them."</p><p>Ras'Taanis gave her hand a squeeze. "You are only human," she repeated. "When you are ready, you should go and see them. They have been asking for you."</p><p>"The team?" Something very much like apprehension had crept into her voice. "They should rest, and…"</p><p>"The colonists." Ras'Taanis cocked her head, and Shepard could feel the intensity of her gaze. "They have been asking for you. Doctor T'Soni has reassured them they will be treated fairly and kindly, but such assurances would be strongest coming from the ship's Executive Officer." </p><p><em> And the Savior of the Galaxy, </em> Shepard thought bitterly. <em> That's the one everyone wants to see. </em></p><p>"Your daughters are of an age where they can be out of your sight for a few moments," the quarian reminded her in a gentle tone. "And I will be right here. Go and see the people you risked your life to save. It will do them good. It will do <em> you </em> good."</p><p> Shepard swallowed, hard, looking out into the room. She glanced back at her daughters, at the quarian doctor. Looked out at the recovering colonists again. Her hands clenched and unclenched. She took a deep, steadying breath. A pair of glimmering blue eyes, blue like the Earth from orbit, flashed before her mind's eye, a pair of full purple lips curled slightly upwards in a coy smile. A soft, airy voice in a teasing tone. <em> What is it you always say, love? "Trying to live forever?" </em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em> A shattered street. A city on fire. Fighters scream overhead like angry hornets, swirling about tenebrous shapes of mist and hate. A boiling red eye, piercing the dark. A vanguard of destruction, of annihilation. A Harbinger of sorrow. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> S H E P A R D </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I  K N O W  Y O U  S E E  T H I S  S H E P A R D </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Y O U  C A N N O T  E S C A P E  M E  S H E P A R D </em>
</p><p>
  <em> S H E P A R D . . .  </em>
</p><p>“Shepard? Vice-Admiral?”</p><p>A hand snaked out, struck the hateful red eye in the dark. “Yeah?” came a groggy voice.</p><p>“It’s Ereba, Vice-Admiral. Flight Lieutenant Ereba? I’ve… I think I’ve found something. In the Shadow Sea. Iera system. It’s faint, but…” A slight pause. “Drive core venting. Three signatures. I think it’s our frigates, Vice-Admiral.”</p><p>A rustle of coverlets and clothing. “Good catch, Flight Lieutenant. Beat to quarters. I’m on my way down.”</p><p>She was a wraith slipping through the halls of the Beirut in raven-black and Alliance-blue. Klaxxons howled around her. Crew readied and rushed to battle-stations. An undercurrent of tension and fear crackled like lightning, accompanied by the heartbeat thrumming of the drive-core, a pulsing cadence with a steadily increasing tempo as the main gun began to warm up.</p><p>“Status report.” Shepard’s voice was as cold as a winter morning.</p><p>“Three frigates, new-model Citadel fleet,” Commodore Quintus was bringing up imagines on-scope. “One Alliance, two Hierarchy. Scrubbed IFFs, hiding on the far side of the debris field. All three are running silent.”</p><p>“Reactors are nominal,” Lieutenant Onwuache drawled. “Sensors nominal. Kinetic barriers nominal. Accelerators nominal. We are primed and ready to fire, Vice-Admiral.”</p><p>“Open up a hailing frequency.” Shepard gave him a sideways glance. “All spectrums. Keep our barriers up, but cool down that gun, Onwuache.”</p><p>“Vice-Admiral,” the turian Commodore spoke in a low, insistent tone. “That will give away our position. I must advise-”<br/>
“I am aware that it will give away our position,” Shepard rolled over him. “They’ll have a hard time evading us, and they sure as hell can’t out-fight us. I want to know why these three ships are overdue, and we won’t find out if we shoot first and ask questions later.”</p><p>“Respectfully, Vice-Admiral, but… ‘shoot first and ask questions later,’ as you put it, is official Hierarchy naval policy. As is it Federated Republic policy.”</p><p>“Good thing I’m a Spectre, then,” she snapped back. “Open hailing frequencies.”</p><p>“Three channels, responding ma’am,” Ereba replied slowly. “All three vessels. Shall I bring them up on the main screen?”</p><p>“Keep an eye on those reactors, Flight Lieutenant,” Quintus barked. “If they even <em> think </em> about making an FTL jump-”</p><p>“Commodore, if you even think about giving another order in my place on my bridge-” a vein in Shepard’s forehead twitched. “Bring them up, Flight Lieutenant.”</p><p>A trio of holo-screens flashed. After a few moments, faces began to appear. The captains spoke nervously, barely daring to meet her eyes.</p><p>“This is Captain Suliion of the Unrelenting Fury.”</p><p>“Captain Pennix, Chicago, receiving.”</p><p>“This is Acting-Captain Everson, of the Tempest.”</p><p>“This is Vice-Admiral Shepard of the Beirut,” Shepard spoke slowly but clearly. “The three of you failed your check-ins, three times. Do you require assistance?”</p><p>“Shepard. Jesus,” Pennix groaned.</p><p>“How’d you find us, Beirut?” Everson frowned through the hazy signal of the holo-screen. “We didn’t particularly want to be found.”</p><p>“Not by you, at any rate,” Suliion’s flanged voice carried a note of defeat.</p><p>“I have a hell of a Flight Lieutenant.” Shepard tossed a wink at Ereba before continuing. “FGR reports have you listed as captured by Attican Unionists. I get the feeling that isn’t the story, is it Tempest? Fury? Chicago?”</p><p>“We’re not going back, Beirut,” Suliion spoke defiantly. “You can tell the Board that Taia Suliion is tired of throwing lives away on empty rocks in what used to be Council space.”</p><p>“Or you could tell them you never found us,” Pennix pleaded. “We’ve had enough, Shepard. Surely you understand.”</p><p>“Shepard’s a war-dog if there ever was one,” Everson laughed darkly. “How much mercy do you think the Red Wind of Illyria is going to have for a pack of deserters?”</p><p>You could hear a pin drop on the bridge of the Beirut. “This was your choice?” Shepard asked in a quiet voice. “You all willingly chose to desert, rather than be sent back to active duty?”</p><p>“Every one of us,” Everson spat. “From Captains to ratings and deckhands.”</p><p>“That settles it,” Quintus broke in, visibly seething. “Lieutenant Onwuache, you will prepare the Beirut to fire.”</p><p>“The hell you will,” Shepard snarled. “Onwuache, belay that order. Tempest, Fury, Chicago: what do you all plan on doing, once you’ve deserted?”</p><p>“Just let us go, Vice-Admiral.” Captain Pennix held his hands out imploringly. “We just want to find somewhere we can live in peace. Somewhere where there isn’t a Reaper War anymore. Is that so much to ask? We’re all Sword Fleet veterans - haven’t we given enough?”</p><p>
  <em> “It would be easy for a single ship to get lost up there… wouldn’t it? To find someplace very far away, where you could spend the rest of your life in peace, and happiness…” </em>
</p><p>Her voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. It sounded like she’d said “Go.”</p><p>Around her, the bridge erupted in confusion.</p><p>“Vice-Admiral, they are powering up FTL drive,” Lieutenant Onwuache was saying with rising alarm. “I need your orders, ma’am.”</p><p>“This is <em> treason </em> ,” Quintus roared. “Lieutenant Onwuache, I <em> demand </em> you fire on those ships. I am a Commodore of the Federated Galactic Republic-”</p><p>“-can’t talk to the Vice Admiral like that!” Ereba splurted. “Ma’am - ma’am? Are we standing down?”</p><p>“This is a farce of official procedure, a dereliction of duty, not to mention a gross mismanagement of Republic resources-”</p><p>“We can still pursue, ma’am,” Onwuache offered quietly. “There’s still time before they jump, to trace and follow. We can catch them if we-”</p><p>“Belay that,” Shepard barked, cutting through the chatter. “We are <em> not </em> firing, Commodore, and we are not pursuing, Lieutenant. We let them go.”</p><p>“You cannot be serious,” Quintus looked apoplectic. “These are <em> deserters </em> who have stolen Republic vessels! You have made us all accomplices to a serious crime - who do you think you are?”</p><p>“I told you, Quintus,” Shepard hissed. “I’m a Spectre.” She held his gaze in a terse silence, held it long enough to watch the three frigates disappear off-scope, into the Traverse.</p><p>"You'll burn for this," Quintus promised. There was a pistol in his hand. "Security team, to the bridge. Vice-Admiral Shepard, for gross dereliction of duty, I am removing you from command."</p><p>Onwuache and Ereba both stood in alarm as turian and human marines flooded the bridge, rifles in hand. Shepard glanced at them, at the Commodore, at the pistol. A brief whisp of biotic power danced about her but she banished it with a thought. Ereba, arms wide, half-drew her own sidearm, searching Shepard's eyes with a terrified look. </p><p>Shepard sighed. She gave the asari a tiny, imperceptible shake of her head and held her wrists out, expectantly, to the marine squad. "You must do what you think is right," she said quietly.</p><p>"I never liked you, Shepard," the turian sneered. "I hope you enjoy your stay in the brig. I know I am going to enjoy seeing you thrown to the varren before the Admiralty Board."</p><p>Shepard thought about breaking the turian's mandibles but thought the better of it. Instead, she just gave him a mocking smile. "Victory, at any cost."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>2176<br/>Lance Corporal Shepard completes her three-year tour with the Serrice Guard under the Citadel's Valkyrie Program and is re-integrated to the Alliance Navy. Her first posting is as a commissioned Ensign aboard the SSV Agincourt where she is deployed to Elysium in the Skyllian Verge. </p><p>On November 11th, 0200 Earth Pacific Standard Time, pirate and mercenary forces funded by the batarian Hegemony launches an extensive ground and orbital assault on Elysium's colonies. Ensign Shepard is credited with orchestrating a 27-hour guerilla counter-offensive that allowed for the civilian population of the Illyria colony to flee to safety. Citadel and Alliance press hail her as the 'Hero of Elysium' for her bravery. Within the Terminus systems she becomes infamously known by another epithet: the 'Red Wind of Illyria.'</p><p>2193<br/>The Admiralty Board quietly votes to begin annexing colonies within the Traverse, both to protect them from corsairs and in order to retrofit the Federated Republic for expansion into former Council space. Admiral Wenn'Taesa, Dalatrass Aelbana, Urdnot Criid and Primarch Septiria all vote in favor of annexation. Admiral Hackett recuses himself. Matriarch Tevos casts the sole dissenting vote.</p><p>2194<br/>The Admiralty Board votes to make military service mandatory within the Republic. Matriarch Tevos casts the sole dissenting vote. Vice-Admiral Shepard is forcibly removed from the council chambers.</p><p>2195<br/>Three FGR ships - UFV Unrelenting Fury, UFV Chicago, and UFV Tempest - are reported overdue in the Traverse. Initial reports are that they were captured by the Attican Union. The Admiralty Board votes to place the Federated Republic on a war footing against the fledgling Attican Union. Matriarch Tevos casts the sole dissenting vote.</p><p>Vice Admiral Shepard is made captain of dreadnought UFV Beirut and tasked with investigating the missing vessels in the Traverse. The Unionist fleet is tracked to the Iera system.<br/>Shepard learns the ships were never attacked and willingly defected. Violating FGR orders, she refuses to fire upon the deserter ships and is relieved of command by the Beirut's XO, Commodore Quintus. Imprisoned in the brig, she is returned to the Citadel and faces a Federated Republic court martial.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Too Long</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Liara comes to an agreement with Soru'Nal. T'Nere offers a sad revelation. Sybilla and Liara re-connect.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“T’Soni?”</p><p>The voice echoed oddly in the maiden’s mind, sounding as if it were coming from a very great distance, or perhaps the bottom of a long tunnel. Things felt… fuzzy, hazy. Her limbs felt leaden. There was something propping her up, something keeping her from moving her arms or shoulders. Her breath reverberated oddly to her, as if <em> she </em> were the one trapped in the bottom of the tunnel. Everything was simultaneously light and heavy, weightless and overburdened. It felt like floating.</p><p>“T’Soni!”</p><p>Something or someone was shaking her by the shoulder. The voice rang out again, atonal and strange. It sounded like two people talking with the same voice. It sounded familiar. There was a sense of urgency, of worry.</p><p>Liara’s eyes fluttered open, unsteadily. Everything was black, save for a thick band of fuzzy, hazy grey and blue. <em> Am I the one in the tunnel? Why am I in a tunnel? Am I at a dig? Did I fall asleep at a digsite again? </em></p><p>She wracked her mind to remember. Incongruously, it reminded her of sifting through zettabytes of unsorted data, of scratching in the dirt for signs of ancient civilizations. It reminded her of another time, in another life.</p><p>
  <em> “Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is SSV Normandy!” </em>
</p><p>A cold hand seized her heart. Now <em> this </em> is a voice she remembered, a voice laced with scarcely-controlled panic, with an undercurrent of fear.</p><p>“No, no, no,” she could hear herself whimper. “No, not again…” Her hands clawed weakly at what felt like iron bars pinning her in place. Her breath caught in her throat and she panted, gasped, struggled.</p><p>
  <em> “We’ve suffered heavy damage from an unknown enemy!” </em>
</p><p>There was a relieved sigh. “She’s here!” the first voice called, louder, nearly snarling with impatience. “She’s here, someone give me a hand with the…” The hands were back on her shoulder, again, ripping at something. There was a soft tearing noise, and she felt an immediate relief, like a weight was removed from her chest and back. The blue and grey bar of her vision swam with dark, blurry shapes.</p><p>
  <em> “Come on baby, hold together… Hold together…” </em>
</p><p>She felt herself falling, falling forward, falling into the blackness of the abyss. Her hands flailed feebly, and for a terrible moment she was back in the escape pod again, back over Alchera again. A cold blue sphere stretched into the dark beyond through a narrow slit in her vision. A burning speck drifted lifelessly, silhouetted by cold, unfeeling stars. Her mind, rough and raw from shock and confusion, could still <em> feel </em> her lover’s touch, could feel her pain, her helplessness. And then it felt nothing.</p><p>“Goddess… no…” she sobbed, convulsing. Choking.</p><p>“Liara, it’s me,” the first voice is there, a rough gentleness cutting through panic swirled with sorrow. “Try to breathe. We’ve got you. You just have to-” It pitched high again, to carry. “Medic! I need a medic down here right away!”</p><p>Her blood boiled, thundered. The air about her face was searing.  She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. Her weeping, hysterical gasps sounded tinny, accompanied by a faint buzzing. It felt like the buzzing was coming from inside her own head.</p><p>Something wrenched at her neck, and the darkness around her receded a little. Her eyes shot open, as much in confusion as shock. Strong hands gripped her. A scarred, mottled visage thrust itself in front of her, cracked visor and blue paint and grey eyes red-rimmed from smoke and grief and stress.</p><p>“G-Garrus?”</p><p>Relief flooded through the grey. “Spirits. I thought… I thought I’d lost you, too.”</p><p>The words and their implication ripped through her like a knife. She remembered.</p><p>
  <em> A blood-soaked street. A city on fire. Dark shapes on the horizon. Screams, shouts, the sounds of gunfire and violence. Pain, so much pain. I can barely breathe, can barely think. My legs don’t support my weight. She is there. She is there, holding me up, like she always has. I remember when I fell, on Therum, out of the Prothean security bubble, and how she caught me. She’s carrying me, now, effortlessly, in those powerful arms. I remember how I fell, on Noveria, collapsed over mother’s body, and how she held me. She’s holding me now, those strong arms wrapped around me, safe and secure. I remember how I fell, on Hagalaz, as the terrible implications of what I’d done sunk in, and how she kissed me. She’s kissing me now, urgent and desperate, our bloodied lips pressed together for this, the last time. Goddess, she’s so beautiful. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Take her,” she says, and her voice is like iron. I feel my broken body passed from one set of arms to another, feel weightless, suspended. Floating. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I would have followed you to the end, Shepard.” Garrus speaks quietly, fiercely. He understands. I don’t, yet, but recognition is coming, barreling down towards me like a truck at full tilt. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I know.” Her voice cracks. Now I understand. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I twist, struggle vainly against the turian’s clawed grip. Turn to see her face, bloody, ashen, defiant. Her eyes are so green, green like Thessia from above. Green like the dew-laden grass in an Armali park at mid-morning. There’s a smudge of soot splattered across her lip. It’s hiding the tiny birthmark at the corner, the birthmark that dances when she smiles, when she laughs. I want so desperately to wipe it away, but my arms aren’t working, so I just paw at her, feebly. Goddess, she’s so beautiful.  </em>
</p><p><em> “You aren’t… leaving me behind,” I choke, holding back the sobs. “You promised. You </em> promised <em> .” </em></p><p>
  <em> A gauntleted hand, sticky with blood, strokes my cheek. It is both warm and cool. Through it all I can feel her love, her adoration, her unyielding strength and devotion. ‘I do this for you,’ her eyes tell me. ‘I do this for us,’ her hand whispers to me. ‘I do this for those little blue babies we wanted,’ her lips scream silently at me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Whatever happens,” she says, low, forceful. “You’re my whole world. I love you, Little Wing.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The fight leaks out of me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sybilla…” I whisper, tasting every syllable for the last time. “I am yours.” I try to reach out, to touch her for the last time. But she’s already gone. She’s running, running straight towards the conduit, running straight towards Harbinger, running straight towards her destiny. One final charge, her fate an arrow, fired from her heart. A heart full of unconquerable love, even here, alone, at the end of everything, in the face of such reckless hate. Goddess, she’s so beautiful. </em>
</p><p>She realized she was weeping, her shoulders shaking and convulsing, her whole body sick with sorrow, aching with anguish. Garrus had wrapped his arms around her. He hadn’t said anything, his mandibles tucked tightly to the sides of his face, his eyes squeezed shut. They didn’t speak. They both knew there was nothing they could say. She was gone, and she’d left both of them behind. She’d left all of them behind.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>She sat and watched the big asari for a long time before she awoke.</p><p><em> She is very pretty </em> , Liara thought with a slight, incongruous twinge of jealousy as she studied the indigo asari, lying in gentle repose in one of the med-bay bunks. <em> Pretty, and athletic, and she is my long-lost bondmate’s second-in-command, and she is asari, and Sybilla has always been attracted to asari, and her Clan-markings are Ricce, and Sybilla has fond memories of Serrice, and it’s been so long, and… </em></p><p>The asari’s eyes opened, slowly. Even immediately upon waking, they slid around her surroundings with a hunting kestrel’s cool, predatory analysis. <em> Like Sybilla’s eyes, </em> she thought. <em> A killer’s eyes </em>. Unflinching, she took in Liara’s presence for a silent moment. “You look none the worse for wear,” she said finally.</p><p>"You saved my life. You saved my daughter’s lives. And I do not even know your name.”</p><p>“You saved <em> my </em> life, too,” the asari grumbled. “So let’s not keep score. It’s T’Nere. Saith T’Nere. You’re Liara T’Soni.” It was not a question.</p><p>“I am,” she answered anyways. “Truly, Miss T’Nere, I cannot adequately-”</p><p>“Sergeant,” she corrected, but gently.</p><p>“Sergeant, then,” Liara acknowledged. “What you did, on Supay-”</p><p>“I told you not to keep score,” the commando reminded her. “There are… few enough of us left that the loss of even a single asari would have been worth the risk. Let alone…” To Liara’s surprise, Saith reddened slightly. “Let alone a mother of two.”</p><p>A coldness washed over her. “Is it that bad for us? Even within the Federation?”</p><p>“We persist by but a thread,” Saith whispered. “And the Federation is run largely by the younger races. There is little sympathy among turians and humans for our declining populations. And there is no word from Thessia.”</p><p>"Goddess," Liara breathed. "We were on Thessia when it fell, Sybilla and I. I will remember seeing the Reapers descending on Armali, the screams, until the end of my days. I… dream of it, still, sometimes."</p><p>They fell silent for a time.</p><p>"She never stopped looking for you, you know," Saith said softly, breaking the silence. "When I was given this assignment, I thought she was just another war-dog, trying to re-kindle her human glory days. I could not believe it when she told me she was still searching for her crew. For her bondmate."</p><p>Liara looked away. "You and Sybilla have become… close?" Her voice was a hollow whisper, scarcely daring herself to ask the question she didn't want to hear the answer to, needed to hear the answer to.</p><p>T'Nere coughed politely. "Not… in the way you are imagining, Lady T'Soni." The big asari suddenly seemed awkward and uncomfortable, her use of the honorific wielded almost as a shield. "The Skipper is my friend. We spar together, train together, have confided in one another. She is my Archon. I would follow her to hell. But in the year I have known her… there is no room in her heart for another, My Lady. Only you."</p><p>Liara allowed herself a relieved sigh. "It is selfish of me, even to ask," she sighed. "We have spent more time apart than together, and for her to have spent so many years alone… But, I dared to hope that perhaps… perhaps if she had survived, perhaps one day fate and the Goddess would bring her back to me."</p><p>"She would have had no small number of would-be suitors," Saith shrugged, "and here she is, crawling through the Traverse for you, not lying in the arms of some other asari. I would hazard, My Lady, that you have little to fear of your bondmate's fidelity." Her expression softened. "Besides," she added, a small smile growing across her purple lips. "She is terribly ugly, even for an alien."</p><p>A deep blush crept across the like maiden's freckled face. "I think Sybilla is the most beautiful woman I have ever met," she giggled.</p><p>"Even with those ridiculous… <em> things… </em> sticking out the side of her head?" Saith gestured to her aurals, fingers splayed out exaggeratedly. "Flopping around everywhere? And all that hair, everywhere. And I do mean <em> everywhere </em>." She made a wry face.</p><p>"I think her ears are cute," Liara said with another giggle. "And the hair… is quite lovely to run your fingers through." A sly smile crossed her face. "And I do mean all of it."</p><p>The older asari choked out a surprised laugh. "Oh, I <em> like </em> you."</p><p>Liara's smile was warm, genuine. "I like you as well. I am comforted by your presence, Saith T'Nere. I can see why she trusts you."</p><p>It was the indigo asari's turn to blush. "Bring the children, next time. I, ah." The scratched her chin, idly. "I would like to meet them. Properly," she amended.</p><p>“I believe they would, as well,” Liara smiled as she rose, giving Saith’s arm a gentle squeeze.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“Doctor T’Soni?”</p><p>There was a faint tapping at the door. An actual, physical tap - the ship-wide comms system had been down since the crash. Most low-priority systems had been shut down in an effort to conserve power, even with Tali and the rest of the engineering crew hastily assembling solar panels and batteries to try and soak up whatever they could from the sun-scorched jungle amidst which they’d crash-landed.</p><p>The knock came again, more insistently this time.</p><p>“Doctor T’Soni? Liara? It’s Karin.”</p><p>Liara rolled over in her cot, pulled the threadbare blanket over her shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not even her friends. There was only one person in the galaxy that she wanted, and she was gone.</p><p>“Liara, please. I have… we need to speak.”</p><p>The door squeaked open, for the first time in what might have been days, and Chakwas coughed slightly at the stale stench of sweat, of mildew, of depression hanging in the air. There was a window, but it was covered, sealed. There was a desk, but it was buried beneath a pile of cables and computer equipment. There was a bed, but it was cold.</p><p>“Liara…” The doctor cleared her throat politely, announcing her presence once more. The maiden felt a dip in the bed as Chakwas took a seat across from her. She could feel the shadow of the woman looming over her. “You were supposed to come to the med-bay today so I could take another look at how your injuries have been healing.”</p><p>“I am fine, doctor,” Liara mumbled from under the blanket. “You needn’t worry on my behalf. I am just… very tired.”</p><p>“Liara,” the voice cracked, suddenly. There was an awkward inflection, an unsteady undercurrent. “I went over your bloodwork and body scans again, last night. I have been so preoccupied with the lacerations to your legs, with the concussion and the bruising to your spine, that… that I missed what was staring me right in the face.”</p><p>
  <em> A gauntlet, sticky with warm blood, the metal plate cool against my cheek. I can see the green, green grasslands of Armali through the unshed tears in her eyes. Her voice is low, rough. “Whatever happens… Whatever happens, you’re my whole world. I love you, Little Wing.” </em>
</p><p>She curled further inward, pulling the blanket over her head. Pulled herself away, away from Chakwas, away from the cold, empty Normandy cabin. Away from the world that had taken her bondmate away. She could feel waves of nausea washing over her, vying with the blackness eating her away from within.</p><p>“Liara,” Chakwas tried again. “Did you know you are-”</p><p>“Of <em> course </em> I know!” the maiden wailed, a wretched sob clawing free of her lips, and then another. Somehow, her dehydrated body kept producing tears, and all of her shook as she clutched the blanket to herself and wept bitterly.</p><p>There was a set of arms around her. They were warm, and comforting, and surprisingly strong, but they weren’t what she wanted. It only made her weep harder, that she could not even find some solace in this, the embrace of a friend.</p><p>“My dear, dear child,” Chakwas whispered in her ear, the human’s own voice catching. “I am so, so sorry. But you must find your strength, girl. If not for you, and if not for Shepard... “ The doctor’s hand lightly grazed her belly. “Then for <em> her </em>.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"You are aware of the difficult position this leaves me in."</p><p>Captain Soru'Nal crossed her arms and leaned backwards against the GARDIAN console, her head tilted slightly, and Liara could imagine a single cocked eyebrow from behind the impassive faceplate. <em> I do wonder if quarians have eyebrows </em> , she mused, <em> and furthermore if they have adopted such human-like expressions. Judging by her current posture that is a probable hypothesis, although my own exposure to humans over the last decade may have influenced… </em></p><p>She shook herself mentally. <em> Focus, T'Soni. Deliberate on xeno-anthropology later. </em></p><p>"I understand, Captain." The maiden's tone was polite, neutral, with a glimmer of steel beneath. Her smile was warm. It didn't reach her eyes. "And I could never repay the debt our colony owes your crew, for risking their lives to rescue us, nor can I adequately thank you for housing and clothing and feeding us afterwards." The smile faded. "But we are effectively held here on the promise of your continued hospitality, as the, ah, 'guests' of a politically opposed and potentially hostile government. You must understand why I would be seeking some form of assurances on the well-treatment and continued freedom of myself, my children, and the people of my community."</p><p>Liara could feel Soru's hypothetical eyebrow raise higher. "And you are coming to me with this, and not your bondmate?"</p><p>"I am coming as a concerned community leader to the Captain of the ship I find myself on," the asari injected a calculated chill to her voice. "I am quite capable of negotiating on the behalf of myself and my community without Sybilla's involvement."</p><p>"So you are," Soru acknowledged with a respectful nod. "So you are. As Captain of the Moreh, Doctor T'Soni, I assure you that you and yours will be treated with kindness, compassion and respect by myself and my crew while you are our guests." She spread her three-fingered hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I cannot guarantee your safety or security past that. My government has declared the Attican Union a rogue state. Should I be ordered to detain you, I have little recourse to avoid doing so. Legally, I am in violation of a half-dozen Federation naval ordnances for having you aboard and freely wandering as is."</p><p>It was Liara's turn to arch her facial markings. She crossed her arms, mirroring the Captain. "Does Commander Shepard’s Spectre status grant <em> her </em> immunity, at least?”</p><p>“Agent Shepard now,” Soru corrected gently. “She was relieved of command. But, yes. Not even the Admiralty Board has dared attempt to rescind the authority of the Spectre corps, despite having dissolved the Council.”</p><p>It was a supreme measure of Liara’s control that she willed herself to not react outwardly at this. Instead, she took a slight breath. “It strikes me, Captain, that Shepard’s Spectre status provides a salvation to both of us. You cannot be prosecuted for following the orders of a Spectre, even if those orders directly counteract concurrent ones. Such as refusing to surrender my people to Federation custody.”</p><p>Soru’s shoulders shook in a slight laugh. “When Federation marines board us and throw me in the brig, I shall be certain to deny everything and blame Shepard for everything.”</p><p><em> You’re not so bad, </em> Liara decided. <em> A little stiff-necked, but not so bad. </em> She allowed a little warmth to return to her small smile. “To be honest, that was my plan as well.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“This is SSV Normandy, transmitting on all channels. Is anyone receiving?”</p><p>Quick fingers tapped at a haptic interface. Adjusting, recalculating, calibrating. There was a slight metallic groan. A hastily cobbled-together dish shifted almost imperceptibly, a silver disc glinting strangely under a strange, alien moon.</p><p>“This is SSV Normandy. Does anyone… is anyone out there?”</p><p>Conical trees swayed in the night wind. Out in the jungle, local wildlife hooted and called in discordant voices, rustled leafy fronds and tall, serrated grasses underfoot. There was a faint whine of insects buzzing beneath the humm of the equipment. The air was hot, and musty, and smelled faintly of acid and ash.</p><p>“Please… Please. This is SSV Normandy. Is anyone receiving? Please respond.”</p><p>A blanket wrapped twice around her neck and shoulders against the night's chill, Liara stepped lightly out into the dark space between the ship and the transmitter, a steaming mug of something not quite but close enough to tea in each hand. The grass crinkled softly underfoot. Overhead, a brilliant canopy of stars stretched out in all directions.</p><p>“Please…”</p><p>"Specialist Traynor?"</p><p>Samantha Traynor sat huddled over the communications array, her movements sporadic and shuddering, her shoulders quivering but not from the chill. She jerked upright at the sound of Liara's voice, wiping her face hurriedly and rising.</p><p>"Oh- Doctor T'Soni!"</p><p>“I have come to relieve you.” Liara held out one of the mugs. “And I thought you could use one of these.”</p><p>Gratitude flooded over the Specialist’s features, and she murmured a wordless thanks as she held the warm vessel in both hands, inhaled the fragrant vapors deeply. “It isn’t Yorkshire Gold, but my God do I ever need this.” An apologetic smile crosses her lips. “Yorkshire Gold is- well, was…”</p><p>“Your favourite tea, back on Earth, yes.” Liara’s eyes twinkled in a quiet amusement. “Yes, I remember.”</p><p>Samantha let out a clipped laugh. “Sorry, I’d forgotten. You know everything.”</p><p>“Not anymore,” the maiden breathed. They both fell silent.</p><p>“There’s just… there’s just so <em> many </em> of them,” the human gestured skywards, her shoulders slumped with an air of hopelessness. “For someone to find us here, to find one ship…”</p><p>A memory brought a ghost of a smile to the asari’s purple lips. She leaned against the crates they’d stacked to build an impromptu shelter for their improvised comms array and took a warming sip of her tea. “I told Sybilla the same thing, just before… just before. How easy it would have been, for us to just… slip away, and forget about the war, forget about the Reapers.”</p><p>
  <em> I slip off my glove and take her hand in mine. Her skin is always so warm, like a furnace against the coolness of my scales. I love the way her rough, calloused palm feels, how her strong, deft fingers weave in between my own. How even when I am am attempting to comfort her, the quiet aura of strength and resolve that radiates from her reassures me. Makes me feel safe. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It would be easy for a single ship to get lost out there… wouldn’t it?” I ponder, as we look up together at the sea of stars above us. Her emerald eyes glimmer at the prospect of it. I know it is what part of her wants, what part of us both want: just the two of us, out in that endless ocean of night, an infinity of wonder for us to explore. I cannot imagine anything as romantic as spending the rest of my life with this woman, drifting from planet to planet, hand in hand beneath the light of strange moons. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah,” she smiles, leaning back, and I see the knotted muscles in her shoulders loosen, just a little, see some of the tension slip away like astral dust in the contrails of our little ship. “It would.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “To find someplace very far away, where you could spend the rest of your life in peace,” I very nearly whisper, leaning in closer to lean my head against those strong shoulders, to revel in our closeness. “... and happiness.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She twists, snaking over to plant a soft, chaste kiss on my cheek. I shudder slightly at the touch, at the trail of fire a single kiss leaves me in the midst of, a yawning chasm of want clawing at my insides, that can only be filled by her touch, by her love. My eyes slide back in contentment, even as goosepimples run up and down my spine, all the way to the points of my crest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Her voice is rough with emotion. I can taste the need in her. “Right now there’s no place I’d rather be.” </em>
</p><p>“Doctor T’Soni?”</p><p>Liara blinked. She realized she’d drifted off, that Samantha had spoken. “I am sorry, Specialist Traynor,” she blushed, hiding her face behind her mug. “It is a… cherished memory.”</p><p>“It’s okay. I was just saying…” She twined her fingers together around the mug. “I was just saying how much I missed her. She was… the best CO I’ve ever had.” Samantha glanced upwards, those big brown eyes glinting in the starlight. “When Vancouver was attacked… I was just a lab tech, not a soldier. I wasn’t even supposed to be onboard. I was terrified, of the Reapers, of the war… of everything. She…”</p><p>“... She picked you up, and made you feel brave,” Liara finished for her. She reached out and put a hand on Traynor’s knee. “Made you feel special. Like you were a part of something, like you belonged somewhere. She did the same for me, when she rescued me on Therum. She did the same for all of us.”</p><p>“God, I had <em> such </em> a crush on her when I first met her,” Samantha groaned. “Every time she came into the CIC I felt like I was caught between staring with my jaw on the floor and hiding behind something and hoping she didn’t see me.”</p><p>Liara couldn’t help but smile, a genuine one, for what felt like the first time in a long time. She remembered a certain asari falling out of a Prothean security bubble and into a certain Spectre’s arms, remembered how instantly and completely she’d fallen for her fierce, beautiful savior. “She… has that effect.”</p><p>They sat in slightly comfortable, slightly awkward silence for a few moments before Samantha yawned, and rose to leave. “Thank you for the tea, Doctor. And the talk,” she pressed a hand to Liara’s shoulder as she passed. “I’m… I’m sure we’ll hear from someone soon.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Liara sighed contentedly as she nuzzled the side of Sybilla’s neck, her hand tracing gentle patterns across the flat planes and corded muscles of the arm draped over her. Their bodies fit together like a puzzle, a puzzle that may have been set aside for too long, but was now ready to be finished. The rigid shape of the bandage crossing Sybilla’s abdomen was poking her in the side, but not uncomfortably so, and she imagined it must be much more painful for her bondmate. It certainly hadn’t stopped the children from cuddling themselves as close to their father as they could; Aethyta was neatly pressed against Sybilla’s hip, and Benezia as usual had her sister wrapped in her own arms. Craning her neck up gently, so as not to wake them, Liara’s heart glowed as she watched her two beautiful children in slumber’s sweet embrace. The arm draped over her pulled her in just a little closer, and she glanced up gratifyingly to see a pair of gentle green eyes watching her in the dark, looking at her with such warmth, with such love it took her breath away.</p><p>“Hey, beautiful.” Sybilla’s whisper was a low, comforting rumble.</p><p>Liara felt a helplessly adoring smile crack across her face. “Hi,” she mouthed, gazing upwards, lost in those eyes. Shifting her body slightly against the larger woman, she stretched a hand out to trace the lines of her face, lightly stroking the fine bones of her cheek, the strong lines of her jaw, pressing a thumb against the tiny mark just beneath the curve of her lip. Her long fingers traced old worry lines and new ones, ran down the bump where her famous nose had been re-broken more times than either could count, touched gently on the eyebrow scar courtesy of a sword, of all things. A strange thought touched her.</p><p>“Sybilla,” she frowned slightly. “You’ve barely aged a day.”</p><p>After a long moment, her human nodded, mouthing a single word with a shrug. “Lazarus.” Her expression brightened, before either of them could stray down that darkened path for too long. “I’ll have to thank Miranda for keeping me from going grey another few decades.”</p><p>The asari’s smile was tremulous, but warm. A flutter of anxiety roiled through her as she lowered her eyes, pressed her cheek into her human’s breast. “Goddess. Eleven years of waiting, of wishing for exactly this, and I find myself at a loss for words.”</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>Strong fingers lifted her chin, and she found herself lost in the green of Sybilla’s eyes again, kind and gentle and tinged with sadness. Those same fingers threaded through her own, the rough callouses rubbing against her soft scales and softer undersides, and she felt a rush of warmth shoot through her. “Show me?”</p><p><em> Goddess, I love this woman. </em> She nodded, a little woodenly, whispering “close your eyes,” as she stilled her breath, as she felt her own eyes slide over to black. She could feel Sybilla’s mind, could feel her bondmate opening up to her mentally and emotionally, could feel the electric-blue glow of their biotics reacting, surrounding them in a warm, tingling cocoon. The cabin began to fade. The ship began to fade. The galaxy began to fade. There was only Liara and Sybilla, alone together in a sea of endless, glittering stars, and then there was no more ‘Liara’ or ‘Sybilla.’ There was only the pulsing of two minds as one, the beating of two heartbeats as one, the warmth of two souls as one.</p><p>Their souls knew each other.</p><p>
  <em> Fatigue, and pain, and sorrow. A lake of it, an ocean. A mountain, suspended on tired, scarred shoulders, tension taut as a cable on corded muscles. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Icy needles, digging into the left brain. A throbbing, pulsing ache. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Scars, bruises, cuts. The cuts run deep, deep to a wounded core. There’s a bullet that never came out, the twinge of a ruptured hip actuator, a thousand thousand micro-fractures of bones broken and re-set a thousand thousand times. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And through it all, under it all, suffusing it all… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Light. Love. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Veins of gold, burning within a battered skeleton. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Goddess… there’s so much pain. You’re so tired, love. How do you stand it? How do you keep on?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A flood of warmth, of trust, of implicit, unconditional affection. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I have you, Bluebird. I have you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Goddess…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A flash of light. A green, green field, under an impossibly blue sky, a sun’s gentle rays trickling down, bathing them in warmth, in light. The grass is cool and tickles the underside of bare feet. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There is a tree, gnarled and bent, broad boughs overhead throwing cool shade on dew-laden grass. Heavy, ripe yellow fruit hangs, overhead. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Lemons. They are called lemons.” A brassy laugh. “My father-” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I know.” A whisper, soft as a feather. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Is this-” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It is.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The house. Tall, and slender. It sits alone, away from the others, on a slight include. The lemon tree sits in the front yard. The mountains hang overhead, austere and tree-lined and snow-capped, a challenge to the sky. You can see them from the living room, through the window. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The kitchen window faces the front yard. It smells of- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Roses! Climbing roses. Just like- Are there..?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Not on Supay, love.” A slight twinge of sadness. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It doesn’t matter. You did all this..?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I couldn’t let you go.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It’s perfect.” Insistent. “It’s perfect.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I wanted our daughters to know you. And… I wanted, one day, for you to come home, to-” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You’re my home, Bluebird.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She is there. Her long hair is grown out, cascading in midnight-black ringlets around her strong shoulders. The only darkness under her eyes are smoky lines of kohl. Red lips are tilted in a lopsided grin. The twisting ink of her tattoos curve around a high collared, sleeveless green dress. They dare the hands follow where the eyes trace them. Glittering emeralds shine forth from her own eyes. She is fierce, and confident, and beautiful, a Huntress-Goddess made flesh. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Is this how I look to you..?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You know it is.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Flatterer.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I try.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Her arms are wrapped around her asari, blue scales and honey skin entwined. Ocean deep blue eyes, guileless and beguiling, flutter upwards at the human in her embrace. Sunlight and dappled shade dances on the freckles on her nose, on the slightly lighter, mottled patterns on the gentle upsweep of her crest. Every line is softened, every curve sensuous, played up by a wispy, diaphanous gown that glitters like starlight. She bites down on a purple lip. Her gaze is piercing. A nimbus of light plays about her fingertips, about her eyes. She is elegant, and confident, and beautiful, a Goddess of Oceans in glittering scales. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Do… do I look like this, to you?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You look like this to everyone.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Flatterer.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I try.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Somewhere, there is music. A high, sprightly fiddle, and a deep-throated cello. The tune is lovely, and lively, and a little sad. Powerful arms sweep a giggling maiden off her feet, spin her in a circle. They turn, slowly, arm in arm, cheek to cheek, exchanging laughs and kisses. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sybilla… you can’t dance!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “We aren’t dancing, we’re swaying. Just sway with me, Blue.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Always.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Promise?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Just as long as you promise you’ll never let me go.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A slow, lingering kiss. “Death couldn’t keep me from you, Liara T’Soni, and He’s tried twice.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Don’t remind me.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sorry…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Don’t be. You came back. Goddess… you came back.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sunlight flips to twilight, a Nos Astra sunset. Hazy, filtered gold flits through impossibly tall skyscrapers, casting long shadows. The floor is tiled metal, cold enough underfoot to force one to seek the warmth of loving company. A fire crackles in a hearth. They lounge about plush, velvet cushions on the floor, clinking tall, fluted glasses of twinkling crystal. The city that never sleeps buzzes pleasantly outside. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “This is a pleasant fiction, is it not?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It doesn’t have to be. We could see if…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “If this apartment is still there? If Nos Astra is?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Quiet, for a moment. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I… am sorry.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Don’t be.” Kisses, pressed to a scaled forehead. “Don’t be.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sybilla… are you sure-” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A kiss silences her, a long, forceful one. Low, mewling moans of need. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’ve never been more sure.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You didn’t even let me finish the question.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A brassy laugh. “We’re in each other’s minds.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Her own laugh is a silver chime. “You are a fast learner, my love.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hands clasp hands, urgently. Emerald stares deep into sapphire. “There's no doubt. Not here. Not with you. Not ever.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A sly grin. "You weren't ever tempted? Eleven years is a long time, for a human." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A crimson bloom across a freckled nose. A playful, frustrated growl. "Going without sex for eleven years? No, love, easiest thing in the world. All I had to do was PT myself to exhaustion, four times a day. Perfectly easy. Many punching bags died, so that we could sit here together." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There's a flash of a thought. White chalk-paint on violet scales. Smouldering grey eyes, locked in rapt attention. A pair of perfectly pursed full lips, split by a vertical band of white. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Well, and there was… that." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Silver laughter rings out, clear and light and honest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Aeava Tevos? Truly? Goddess, Sybilla. And here I thought it was Saith T'Nere your eyes had fallen upon." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "You… aren't angry?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "We are in each other's minds,” a laughing refrain. “Though…” a playful pause, baited for several heartbeats. “I now know where that dress you imagined me in comes from.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It looks better on you.” Emphatically, and the hands caressing her hips and thighs attest to it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You are incorrigible.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Unabashedly.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Blue hands run lightly over amber, stilling them for a second. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “All that matters to me is that you are here, and that you are mine once more. Goddess, I can scarcely believe...” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She let herself be pulled into a deep kiss; not tentative and gentle, as they had once been, lifetimes ago, nor desperate and needy, as they had been only a few hours before. This kiss was reaffirming, a reminder, a promise. Delicate fingers threaded through ebony tresses, even as roaming hands caressed the folds of her neck, brushed the base of her crest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sybilla-” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yes.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Need you…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yes.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Their clothes were gone, gossamer drifting away on a faint breeze. Cool, slightly pebbled scales rubbed against soft, supple skin, warmth entwining with warmth. Their biotics hummed, tingled, tendrils of purple and blue snaking around them, brushing against them, against each other, weaving together like a web around the lovers. Their bodies moved in sinuous rythmn, angled together, exhaled together, their breaths paired, their heartbeats as one. Flesh tingled and burned as hands and lips roamed. They were an endless reflection of each other, each touch, each kiss, each needful grasp, each moan bounced back, felt, amplified, encouraging, as the invisible thread that wound around them, that bound them, tied mind and body and soul together. They were one. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Goddess…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “More.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Love you-” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Love you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yours.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Mine.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I am-” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “God, yes.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Release washed over both of them, simultaneous and mercilessly quick, muscles bearing down into shaking, fluttering contractions, shivering and clutching each other in tandem, quivering breaths and sweat-slicked skin. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Goddess… Too long…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Too long.” </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Burn Notice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Shepard suffers several interruptions. Soru has a bad feeling. The Admiralty Board demands results.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mahant was nervous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The emotional response was unwarranted, he knew. His team was trained and prepared, he was trained and prepared, and the operation had been extensively researched, every contingency planned for. Even preliminary success calculations had indicated a 71.8 (repeating, of course) percent probability of total mission success without complication, and as additional factors and information had been fed to the Special Tasks’ mission control VI, that success rate had climbed to over 88 percent. It was as sure a thing as could be, given the sensitive nature of the operation and those involved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The emotional response was also illogical, he knew. Even should the mission be a failure, the likelihood of his own personal endangerment was next to nothing. This, too, had been prepared for in the operations manual - he had spent the last four months establishing deep cover, there were no ties between Mahant and the wetworks team, and not even the Shadow Broker could have tied the multiple-redundant layers of digital secrecy between himself and this operation. He was entirely protected from reprisal, he was certain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, as he stood under the shadow of the silhouette on the vid-screen, he could feel his eyes drying up, his scalp-tendrils curling just a little bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was vaguely humanoid. The implied height and musculature made asari unlikely, suggesting a human, though Mahant had seen female turians with similar builds. He couldn’t be certain of a sex. He’d never been good at judging the sex of aliens, had never had the patience for it. The voice, certainly, didn’t conform to any alien’s silly binary ideals of gender: deep, overpowering, a confident growl that dispelled any notions of rebellion, that demanded naught but obedience. He couldn’t make out any facial feature, but could feel the eyes boring into him from a billion light-years away. A troubling impression accompanied that blank-faced glower: of some horrible arachnid, looming over its prey, of being caught in the strands of a web and twitching one’s life away as a horrible creature primed to strike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is everything prepared?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, of course,” Mahant managed, blinking rapidly as he tried to moisturize his drying lenses. “We picked them up at 0235 Citadel Standard, when they put in a request to Docking Command to board the re-supply station. They’re here in four hours. We expect a shore party of two to three, no more. Primary target will be separated and dealt with by the wetworks team. The psych profile suggests extreme flight risk as-is, and team has been instructed to make it look like an accident to avoid any questions. The device has been secured among their pre-requisitioned supplies. It’s set to detonate once the ship attempts FTL.” He shrugs. “Either the wetwork squad kills her, or the bomb does. There’s no possibility of failure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And your contingency?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have a vessel inbound to make pursuit if, by some wildly improbably scenario, both the primary and secondary operations become compromised.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silhouette nodded, seemingly assured. There was a terrible finality in the voice. “Upon completion of your objective, we begin the move to Phase 2.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mahant felt a chill run down his spine. “It shall be… as you say,” he managed in a strangled voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chaos shall reign throughout the Traverse,” the voice boomed, “and they shall </span>
  <em>
    <span>beg</span>
  </em>
  <span> us to impose the Order they fearfully crave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shepard bounced nimbly on the balls of her feet, sucking in air from her bruised nostrils and exhaling in quick, controlled bursts. Blood pounded in her ears, thundered through her veins, as her heart jackhammered in her breast. She flexed her fingers through her weighted gloves, relishing in the feel of the creaking, oiled leather in her palms, the splash of red across her knuckles. Her hair, still cut too short to properly tie back, clung to her forehead amidst the beads of sweat. A quick toss of her head shook it loose. Her eyes narrowed to crosshairs as she zoned in on her target, as the rest of the world ceased to be for a moment, as her dance began.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lightning-quick, she threw a testing jab, then another. Leather smacked satisfyingly against leather as the heavy bag swayed and swung, and she followed up her third jab with a sweeping, punishing right cross, a blow that reverberated across the shuttle bay like a supersonic boom. Sucking in more air, she launched herself forward, gritting her teeth against the blossom of pain in her hip and the stiffness in her lats as the side of her knee nearly folded the practice bag in half. Her breath was a staccato rhythm, her hands and feet the accompanying percussion. Slabs and cords of muscle shifted and snapped as she increased the pace, increased the force, her limbs and lungs a continuous engine of synchronized motion as she pushed herself harder and harder, found her limits, forced herself to them, past them. Endorphins flooded her and a fierce smile crept across her face as she put in work, as she compressed the world to a weight-filled leather bag, a pair of red-splashed gloves, to the song they made when they connected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her omni chimed. Priority channel, from the bridge. Pulled from her workout, she blew out a frustrated breath, unwound the wrappings from her hands and dropped them with a little more force than necessary before answering. “Shepard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More than a dozen people were watching her from the other side of the shuttle bay. Only half of them were the usual gaggle of Moreh crew; each morning since the rescue, more and more Supay colonists had begun shadowing her. When they saw they had been caught staring, most started to disperse. A few of them looked to have been recording her workout. She clicked her tongue. At least there was no more extranet for things like this to leak onto.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <span>Waese, ma’am. Um, Communications Officer Waese'Laaris nar Alarei? Captain Soru’Nal vas Moreh said you were to be informed when we were granted docking permission with Relay Beta?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shepard bent to retrieve a towel and wiped at her forehead, feeling suddenly irritable, feeling guilty that her first thought was to chew out the poor Comms Officer tasked with interrupting her workout to do the thing she had been specifically ordered to do. Making an effort to control her voice, she stifled a sigh. “Acknowledged, Comms. Let the Captain know I’ll be along shortly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cabin was dark when she slipped back inside. Benezia and Aethyta clung together in sleep, as they always did, and Shepard spared a few moments to watch the two of them, the rise and fall of their chests as they breathed easily, their dreams untroubled, their faces so peaceful. She smiled as she looked on, marvelled at how much light and love and life they had brought her in the short time they’d been aboard. Shepard had never imagined herself a mother - or a father, for that matter - until meeting Liara, and their wistful conversations of “after” had always been tinged with the bittersweet, dreams of a future that the two of them thought they might never see. To have the love of her life finally returned to her after more than a decade, and bringing their children with her? It didn’t matter how unprepared for fatherhood Shepard felt, how inadequate or undereducated or frightened the responsibility of these children made her. The joy and affection they brought her, the unconditional affection and love, made everything worth it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bed was empty save for the two children, and Shepard could faintly hear the sound of the shower running in the tiny bathroom. Her breath caught with excitement and her pulse quickened as she crept to the door and slid inside, as much to let the girls sleep as to surprise the occupant within. Her reward was a flash of a tantalizing blue backside and a sharp gasp before she had her hands full with her asari’s arms around her neck and a mouth around her own, her bondmate not even waiting to let her strip out of sweat-sodden workout clothes before she was pulled under the lukewarm stream of water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did not realize you would be back so soon,” Liara whispered between kisses, deft fingers working at the tie of Shepard’s workout shorts even as the Spectre pulled her sports bra over her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re… mmmphmm… docking soon,” Shepard managed around a mouthful of asari neck-fold, as she trailed fire down the scales of her lover’s throat. “I’m supposed to be heading to the… to the bridge.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll… mmm, Goddess… we’ll be quick,” Liara agreed, hooking one of her human’s legs around her waist, entwining her own legs around a well-muscled thigh as much for support as for much-desired friction. One of her hands was already threading through Sybilla’s hair, half-stroking, half-pulling. The other, having freed Sybilla from her shorts, had found other uses for the deftness of her fingers, rocking back and forth as her human’s hips strained and pushed against her. She panted into her ear. “Just the meld is… not enough. Need… need you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sybilla bit down on a scaled fold as her hands needfully pawed at the asari’s breasts. Liara squealed and squirmed against her ear, her hands and her hips hastening their urgency and pace. “Mmmmfffuuuuuck… Meld with me. Now,” Shepard commanded, her voice a low, throaty growl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eyes squeezed shut, Liara could only nod, could barely mouth “Embrace Eternity!” before a swirling, billowing halo of coruscating blue lightning cocooned them both, before the downward spiral into oblivion began. The lines between them blurred as the shared thread of their bond spun them tighter together, as ‘Sybilla’ and ‘Liara’ bled together to one body, one mind, one soul.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Pulsing. Blinding. Needful. A thrumming, all-consuming vibration, a fevered pitch.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, Goddess. Oh, Goddess-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“-so close…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“-please…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nails, digging into the scales of a back. Short hair in a fierce grip. Teeth nipping at the soft skin of a bared neck. The stinging, teasing impact of an open-palmed smack on slick, wet flesh.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“-like that-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“More?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“GODDESS, yes…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A flare of blue light. Waves crashing, receding. Lightning crackling over heated skin. Cool on hot. Shuddering, gasping release.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water was cool and soothing against their sweat-slicked skin, contracting, convulsing bodies panting, flushed, hands unwilling to let go of what they'd latched onto as the frenzy of their passion ebbed out of them. Shepard could feel Liara's hand stroking the flat planes of her abdomen, could feel the other clinging to the cords in her shoulder as she nuzzled deep into her human's neck, her face flushed with blissful contentment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"By. The. Goddess," her asari whispered haltingly. "That was…" Her breath tantalizingly tickled Shepard's ear. "By the Goddess," she repeated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still pulling herself back, Shepard hadn’t quite found her voice. She managed a shaky nod as she planted a soothing kiss on the angry red swell forming on Liara’s neck, where she had clamped down, deep in the throes of their ecstasy. Her lover shivered in her arms, the pleasant friction sending lightning bolts anew racing through the both of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, I missed you,” she managed, finally, clutching at her asari’s supple scales as she revelled in the sensation against her skin, savored the feel of Liara’s swells and curves and angles pressed tightly against her own. She swept an arm around her waist, squeezing her closer. “I’ve missed… I’ve missed so much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ocean-wide eyes drank her in, trapped her floating in a pool of pure warmth, of pure love. “We have,” Liara whispered fiercely, punctuating each pause with a forceful kiss, “our entire lives, to catch up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shepard pressed her forehead against Liara’s. Her voice was small, vulnerable. “Promise?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her asari pressed another kiss on her lover’s lips, this one gentle, tender. “I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, ears up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The clarion call rang out across the shuttle bay, received by nearly fourscore waiting ears and ear-equivalents. Most were military, or something like it, many were not, and though only a handful technically belonged to a chain of command that followed the voice the sheer presence of it, and the woman to whom it belonged to, compelled attention, demanded obedience. Even out of armor or uniform she cut an imposing figure - tall, and dark, her lean frame padded with corded muscle, the somewhat sinister emblem of the Spectre Corps emblazoned defiantly on the breast of a black and gold turian-style tunic and trousers. Though she was long stripped of the rank that had become synonymous with her name, the battlefield whip-crack of authority in that brassy voice made it clear to all present that Commander Shepard was speaking, and when Commander Shepard spoke, you listened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re docking with Beta Relay in just a few moments,” she barked after pacing for a few heartbeats. “The Moreh needs supplies and fuel, and quite frankly, there are a lot of accommodations to be made - not just for the crew, but to you, our guests these past weeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The political landscape between us is… complicated.” A few scattered chuckles broke out at her laconic understatement. “But when we evac’d you all from Supay, we took you on as personal responsibilities. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> took you on as personal responsibilities. And as a soldier and a Spectre, that’s a responsibility I take seriously. So you have my word - no matter what happens, I will continue to do all in my power to ensure you are treated fairly, you are received well wherever you go, and you remain free of unjust prosecution by the Federation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stopped pacing, standing in front of the crowd of Federation navy and civilians at parade rest, her expression carefully neutral. “This </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>, however, a Federation vessel with a Federation mandate. I can’t guarantee the safety of civilians while aboard. While Captain Soru’Nal oversees the resupply and re-fuelling, I’ll be receiving orders - and making arrangements for you all to be transported to wherever you would like to go. That’s my promise as a soldier and a Spectre.” She shrugged. “If you choose to make your own arrangements, I understand. If you’d rather disembark now and take your chances, I understand that, too. All I have right now are promises, not guarantees.” She clasped her hands. “That’s all. Thank you, and be safe.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cute speech, Skip,” Saith T’Nere sassed as Shepard pushed her way through the suddenly-cramped corridor, offering courteous assurances to the press of former colonists for whom promises were not quite solid enough. The big asari flowed in her shadow, her very presence keeping her Archon from being mobbed further than she already was, the glower in her eyes ruined by the lopsided grin she wore. “A solid seven out of ten.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seven?” The Spectre pretended to be affronted, a smile crawling across her own face. “Are we talking about the speech, or about me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha,” T’Nere scoffed, nose wrinkling. “You dream of being a seven. You dream, and imagine yourself awake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right,” she agreed amicably, pressing a palm to the door of the ready-room, finding it already full of Moreh officers and Echo marines. “I’m a twelve, at least.” Her face further brightened at finding Liara and their daughters there, as well, the latter two perched joyously on the knees of an old krogan. Both little asari’s faces were enraptured in attention as Vokrax spun what was more than likely an elaborate fiction, while Liara clasped a hand over her mouth to hide the mirth that was obviously bubbling forth out of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A twelve out of one hundred, perhaps,” T’Nere shot back with a guffaw. Shepard opened her mouth to retort, but her expression sobered at spotting Captain Soru’Nal push towards her, the quarian’s body language far from jovial.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is a lot of risk, Shepard,” the Captain grumbled, falling into step alongside her. “It’s a lot of exposure. For all we know, the Board knows about Supay already, and there’s a squad of marines waiting to take you into custody as soon as you set foot on the station.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe,” the Spectre shrugged. “But we need fuel, and we need supplies, and we need to find better accommodations than we can provide for these people. They can’t sleep in corridors or shuttle bays forever, Soru.” She crossed her arms. “We’ve talked about this. We weighed the risks. What’s changed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soru shook her head. “Nothing, Shepard. Nothing. Just…” A three-fingered hand grasped frustratedly at the air. “I have a bad feeling about this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too,” Shepard admitted. “That’s why a fireteam is going ashore with you. Not even Septiria is going to start a shooting war in the middle of a relay reconstruction station.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re leaving the Moreh undefended?” T’Nere blinked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shepard shook her head vigorously. “Hell, no. Sergeant, you’re leading the other fireteam. The colonists have the option to disembark, but nobody gets on or off my bird without your stamp. Not Lifin’s, not Taliids, yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>where</span>
  </em>
  <span>, exactly?” Liara had joined the conversation. Her hands were firmly planted on her hips, and her eyebrow was cocked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this, Shepard couldn’t hold back the lopsided grin crawling over her face. “Giving the Admiralty Board the kind of status update I used to give the Citadel Council, when we were hunting Saren.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Liara frowned. Her tone was a warning. “Sybilla…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Relax,” she laughed, holding up appeasing hands. “I’m not going to hang up on them. The idea is a long, boring conversation that keeps their attention firmly on me, while Soru handles the re-supply.” She hefted a data-pad. “We scanned one-hundred thirteen celestial bodies since our last report.” The Spectre’s expression was one of placid innocence. “I plan on detailing each and every one of them. In chronological order.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The big asari snorted appreciatively, and the slighter one shot her a scolding look that failed entirely to reach eyes that sparkled with reluctant amusement. Soru shook her head ruefully. “And the colonists?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve spoken with a few that are making their own arrangements. The rest… the freighter Hephastus is scheduled to dock at 1400. Once I’m done with the Board, I’m going to have a chat with the Captain. It’s headed coreward, but arrangements can be made to provide those looking to start over to do so. New aliases, identification, funds…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re just going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Captain of the Hephastus to take on a score of colonists?” Soru cocked her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m a Spectre, Soru,” she pressed a hand to her breast in mock indignation. “I’m going to ask them </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>politely.” Three sets of eyes stared blankly at her, and she rolled her own, grumbling good-naturedly. Pressing a quick kiss to Liara’s neck, along the jawline, she revelled in her bondmate’s shiver.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a re-supply, Soru, not a combat drop. We’ll be out of here in twelve hours, and out of the Board’s sight for another six months.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't like it," Soru repeated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't worry, Soru," Shepard soothed. "Besides." She patted the bulky form of the pistol strapped to her thigh, and the small, seashell-shaped shield generator clipped to the belt of her tunic. "You know what a cautious woman I am."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing. You’ve found nothing.” Primarch Septiria’s holographic image paced aggressively, sliding in and out of frame as the rest of the Admiralty Board struggled to all be seen at the same time. The image flickered, fluttered, barely maintained through the half-completed and barely-functional relay, strung together by communication satellites and comm-buoys across a million million lightyears spanning what used to be Alliance space. Septiria’s feral growl came through loud and clear, though, as did the frustration behind it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We found signs of a limited engagement with a pirate element,” Shepard chose her words carefully. “Telemetry indicated the presence of cruiser-class accelerator discharge. But that’s as much of a trail as we’ve found.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The military-channel comms-room on the Beta relay station reminded Shepard of the one on the Normandy SR-2, after the Alliance retrofit - cramped, circular, and tucked away in an inconvenient spot. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Only this one isn’t guarded by Alliance marines,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, incongruously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What would be the operational strength of this ‘pirate element’?” Admiral Wenn'Taesa interjected, sparing his turian counterpart a backwards glance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In the Traverse? Ubiquitous.” Shepard shrugged. “We’ve seen pirate groups from the Terminus attempting to consolidate power, splinter factions of former batarian Hegemony making slave-raids, and every mercenary leader with more than two remaining followers has declared themselves king or queen of whatever corner of space they’ve cleared for themselves.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about Reaper presence?” Admiral Hackett, this time, his fingers steepled. He didn’t look well, in Shepard’s estimation. Her old friend’s face was gaunt, haggard, and there was something unsettling behind his eyes. She noted with a mixture of shame and satisfaction that he still couldn’t quite bear to bring himself to fully meet her gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More dead worlds than live ones,” the Spectre said quietly. “My last report-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Over one hundred dead husks,” Urdnot Criid barked joyfully. “A glorious victory.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A waste,” Dalatrass Aelbana spoke plainly. “The resources expended on this exploratory mission are becoming greater than the resources returned through salvage and securing of pre-war facilities.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Around her, the station creaked and groaned, corridors echoing with the ringing of industrial tools and the shouts of construction crews in a dozen languages. Shepard raised an eyebrow, trying to filter through the din. “It’s only been a year, Dalatrass. Does the Admiralty Board miss me already?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be daft,” Septiria barked. “We require improved results to justify continued support of your mission.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ships. Weapons. Facilities. Eezo,” Aelbana ticked off. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Colonists</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We need materiel and bodies to reclaim C-Space. You know this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you cannot produce the results we require, Shepard, the resources we have allocated for you can and will be re-allocated to other endeavors,” Septiria warned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have GeneSys private contractors on standby ready to take action, should you be determined to be an… ‘unreliable’ asset,” Aelbana added.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a screeching of metal from the antechambers behind her. Shepard folded her arms and ignored it. “Let’s speak plainly. You sent me on this ‘mission’ as much to get rid of me as to investigate and analyze the logistical nightmare of annexing the Traverse for war assets to reclaim C-Space. What’s changed that the latter is now a higher priority than the former?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Civil unrest.” Tevos broke her silence, causing the others to turn to her in surprise. The asari Matriarch spoke coolly, stoically, her eyes fixated on Shepard. “Many of the nation-states from which the former Earth Systems Alliance was built upon have voiced their displeasure over Federation rule and Federation priorities.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And the influx of non-human Council races to Sol,” Hackett added roughly. “Terra Firma is back in a big way, Shepard. We need a win for the Federation or civil unrest might turn into civil war.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Spectre choked out a bleak laugh. “Let me understand you, Hackett. You need me to snap my fingers and come up with a fleet and an army out of an empty Traverse, so you can throw them at what’s left of the Reapers to re-take C-Space, all so you can get the xenophobes off your back in Sol?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need you to do your damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>job</span>
  </em>
  <span>, woman,” the elder Admiral snarled. He opened his mouth to keep talking, but Shepard was no longer listening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shepard, are you-” Tevos stood in alarm, spotting the Spectre’s change in body language instantly. She ignored her. The construction sounds from the station had dulled to a quiet roar. Quiet enough to pick up on the sound of thermal clips being loaded in the antechamber behind her. She slid the pistol from her hip, feeling cold comfort at the weight in her hand, and stood loosely at parade rest with the firearm obscured by her leg.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shepard, what the hell are you doing?” Hackett barked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A chime from the door-panel announced someone’s attempted entry. Shepard thumbed the safety off her predator and flashed the asari Matriarch a rogueish wink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll call you right back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>These salarians</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Shepard thought grudgingly, as she ducked behind a row of cargo-crates ready to be loaded, avoiding a withering - and accurate - hail of automatic fire, </span>
  <em>
    <span>are not bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Her right side burned from where her nearly-depleted shields had failed to cycle in time and keep a shot or three out of her way. Her lungs burned from sprinting from cover to cover. The ammo counter on her predator was nearly depleted. Deep inside, her veins thrummed like a taut wire, plucked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another staccato rattle of automatic fire peppered the crates around her, accompanied by a dull click. She heard what sounded like a curse in the croaking, guttural salarian tongue, and couldn’t help a sardonic smile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not great, but not bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She broke cover and found him crouched down by the stilled form of a lifter-mech, changing out his thermal clip, and dispassionately shot him three times in center mass, overloading his kinetic barrier and leaving him thrashing and bleeding on the deck. The two remaining salarians both dove for cover, at least bothering to split up this time, forcing her to split her fire. Their first attempt, when there had been five of them, they’d tried to come at her all at once, had hoped surprise and numbers would overwhelm her before she had a time to mount an effective defense. They obviously hadn’t done their research on their target. Shepard didn’t defend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cool, killer’s eyes identified the slightly slower of the two salarians, and her killer’s instinct identified a dozen ways to maintain separation and isolation with the remaining assassins. Throwing her free hand out with a mnemonic gesture, she felt icy needles pricking at the back of her skull as a swirling, churning tendril of dark energy boiled around her hand. Another gesture, and the energy uncoiled, sending a shockwave across the room, flinging cargo crates, barrels, and the smoking remains of two security mechs skyward like debris propelled by a leafblower. Then, she was moving, crossing the distance between her and where the salarian had gone to ground in a manner of heartbeats. She was trying to bring a rifle up to bear but she was far, far too slow, and Shepard blew the side of her head away before her shield could finish cycling, not even pausing her stride.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d lost visual with the last salarian after keeping his head down with the biotic attack. Slowing her heartbeat and her breathing to a crawl, she pressed herself against a support pillar and let her killer’s eyes slide around the space. Range was close, close enough that she didn’t even consider swapping her pistol for the dropped salarian rifle, high-tech as it doubtlessly was. Cover was dense but fragile, nothing too hard to hide behind for long, except… </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>. An industrial shipping container, sized to carry light vehicles. A second support pillar, call it eighteen meters across, nearby. Stack of metal crates to the left. Scattered boxes right. A slight depression. A mech charging station. The orange glow of an omni-tool.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Clever girl,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, flinging herself sideways.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Light flowed into the hulking form of the lifter-mech and, with a metallic groan it unfurled, pistons and servos screeching as it raised itself to its full height, hefting one of the steel crates and flinging it towards the pillar Shepard had been hiding behind with bone-crunching force. The crate careened off with a splintering crash, shaking the entire room and sending casing fragments spiralling everywhere, whistling past with lethal velocity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shepard scrambled to her feet and snapped off a pair of shots even as she dove for cover, hearing the bullets ping harmlessly off the mech’s armored exterior. The final salarian assassin crouched behind the titanic figure, manually overriding its programming to turn the domestic servant into a living projectile. It loped awkwardly across the debris-splayed ground, hydraulic clamps settling over another cargo crate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shepard holstered her pistol and closed her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The world is not the world,” she whispered, clenching and unclenching her fists. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gotta time this juuust right.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The words of Observance rippled through her, helping her find the stillness within. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My hand is not my hand.” Her pulse was as calm as a still pond. The mech hefted a cargo crate half the size of a mako. At this range, it couldn’t miss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My will is not my will.” She surrendered herself to the stillness. The blue light that suffused her was gentle, calm, cool hands caressing her cheek, toying with her hair. It felt like slipping backwards into cool water. It felt like stepping through the front door of your childhood home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mech raised the crate to throw with killing intent. It looked to weigh fifteen tonnes, at least. She’d never be able to block it with a barrier, let alone lift it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t need to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reached out, calmly, coolly, her hand open, picturing the servo-motors in the mech’s arms, the fine machinery required to heft that killing weight. Thousands and thousands of tiny cogs and gears, working in tandem. Remove the right one, and…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Grasp the nonshape,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Gadera’s voice in her ear, a lifetime ago. Three lifetimes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She closed her hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a sound like a broken violin-string, as the mech buckled under the suddenly unbalanced weight. The salarian had about a second to glance upwards at the shadow of the cargo container suspended above her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gravity did the rest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mahant smiled smoothly as the quarian Captain scanned over the cargo manifest while her crew saw to loading the crates onto dollies and lifters. He hadn’t bothered to check his omni-tool, but he knew they were well on-schedule. By now, the primary target would have been eliminated and the wetworks team was disappearing into the wards. Idly he wondered how exactly they had planned on making the death appear accidental. “Industrial accident” was the typical approach, and there were enough active construction zones on the station to make it appear plausible. Not that anyone was liable to ask too many questions - the psych profile Mahant had perused had indicated their target had burned most of her bridges, and had few friends. The so-called ‘Savior of the Citadel’ would be mourned appropriately in public channels, the Federation News Networks would run the necessary patriotic displays, and that insufferable Risa Uvarsen vid would likely see a re-master and re-release. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’ll probably mark another civic holiday in her name</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought sardonically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are these?” one of the marines - </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course, the human asks insipid questions</span>
  </em>
  <span> - was asking, hefting a rattling container. “I don’t recognize the logo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Medical supplies, I believe,” Mahant answered instantly. “GeneSys, out of Sur’Kesh. They bought out Sirta Fabrications oh… two years ago? It was major news in the financial times.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t get the financial times out in the ‘Verse,” the salarian marine chuckled. “More’s the pity. I would have advised my Clan-Mother to invest. Did you know, Doll, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>six</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the nineteen orbital rings around Sur’Kesh have been converted to fabrication facilities now? Every new salarian manufacturing firm could be the next Elkoss Combine…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mahant let the salarian drone on with an imperceptible eye roll. Ordinarily he’d have felt a twinge of regret at the operation endangering a fellow salarian, but his kinsman had enlisted in Federation service knowing the risks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And if ridding the galaxy of a shipfull of troublesome warmbloods comes at the cost of a single salarian life… ‘die for the cause,’ as the turians are so willing to invoke.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If there’s nothing further, Captain..?” he offered, tapping his omni-tool idly, as if he had somewhere more important to be than personally overseeing every single crate brought aboard the Moreh. He did, as a matter of fact, which made the fiction easy to maintain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a question,” a harsh voice snarled from behind. He whirled, the moisture draining from his eyes, as he came face to face with the shadowed silhouette from his nightmares, a tall, muscular human-shape, hair slicked to her forehead with sweat, blood pooling down her side and trailing on the floor behind her. The barrel of a pistol pressed between his eyes. It was like staring into the yawning mouth of a tunnel. He could feel his bladder empty down his leg. “What’s the contingency?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whuh-” Mahant choked, his tongue and his lips no longer cooperating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You STG types always have one. At least one,” Shepard corrected, her smile the glint on an executioner’s axe. “A wetworks team is a serious commitment to the kill - I can respect that - but you’d have a contingency in case I slipped your net, or skipped my briefing with the Board entirely. So.” She pressed the pistol harder against Mahant’s skull. “What’s the contingency?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not- I don’t- You wouldn’t-” words spilled from his mouth like water from a burbling brook. It dried up with the intensity of a single stare. Mahant fell backwards, frozen in place, pinned by the eyes fixated on him. Eyes sharper than the diamond tip of an omni blade. Eyes that could bore through flesh and bone and soul like a Reaper’s magnetohydrodynamic armament. A killer’s eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shepard,” the quarian Captain’s voice was low, cautioning. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t dared to. The marines at her back had dropped their crates, pistols to hand, looking unsure if they should be trained on the salarian, or on the human. “What’s going on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My Admiralty Board briefing was interrupted by an STG wetworks squad,” Shepard answered without looking. The marines immediately started cursing, the salarian most vehemently of all. “This one has only been with the docking administration for four months. But because of how far out into the Traverse we are, this station changes operational staff every </span>
  <em>
    <span>nine</span>
  </em>
  <span> months. Hell of a coincidence.” Her attention hadn’t left Mahant for a second. “I’m going to ask you one more time. What was the contingency?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mahant desperately wanted to wet his eyes. He glanced around the cargo-bay nervously, searching for something, anything - somewhere to hide, something to use as a distraction, some way to call for backup. Something. Anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shepard watched his eyes. “What’s in the crates?” Her voice was the soft purr of a cat tempting a mouse to leave its hole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I-I-I…” Mahant backed up a half-crawling step. Shepard took two steps forward. “I don’t know what-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The human fired three times in the air in quick succession, and the thermal output of her pistol spiked. She stabbed the burning barrel into the salarian’s neck and he squealed in pain, trapped by the human’s feet and the bulk of the weapon, smelling his own flesh singed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>burning</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her voice hadn’t changed: low, dangerous, in control. She spoke softly, almost conversationally. “What’s in the crates?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opened his mouth to protest and the words wouldn’t come. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. All his carefully laid plans, all the layers of plausible deniability he’d established…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A vicegrip seized him by the throat, pulled him to his feet. Now he really was eye to eye with the Spectre. If his bladder hadn’t already been empty…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll tell you what,” Shepard hissed. “We’ll do it together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Those killer’s eyes scanned the remaining supply crates ready to be loaded onto the Moreh. Mahant thought he could see something move behind those retinas; some kind of cybernetic scan? Some filter? Why hadn’t the intel package mentioned her cybernetics?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That one,” she spoke suddenly, pointing to an unobtrusive GeneSys crate already loaded onto a grav-lifter, tucked among various other freeze-dried and powderized food supplies. She gestured between the salarian and the box with the yawning mouth of the pistol. “Open it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mahant stumbled woodenly towards the crate that they both knew contained the explosive device. It was primed to activate upon detection of a sudden surge in drive-core temperatures - like a starship’s drive-core before hitting FTL speeds - but maybe if he could generate an override on his omni-tool quickly enough… He set his jaw, grimly. Either he could use the bomb as leverage to escape… or carry out his mission. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Die for the cause</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I-I-I don’t know what you expect to find,” he stammered, not having to pretend his level of terror as he approached the crate. “Surely there are much more sensible explanations for all of-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up and open it,” Captain Soru’Nal advised. She had her own pistol trained on the salarian, as did the marines. Shepard didn’t even seem to register their presence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y-yes, of course…” Mahant mumbled, fingers flashing over the haptic interface of his omni-tool. His pulse thundered in his chest. This </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to work, it had to. With a metallic </span>
  <em>
    <span>clunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the magnetic seals on the crate opened. He could see the blinking device within, nestled among piles of mundane supplies. He thumbed a control on his ‘omni. The blinking light went from blue to red. “All I do,” Mahant whispered in a tightly controlled voice, “all I do, I do for Sur’Kesh.” He closed his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shepard threw both hands out, dropping the pistol, and a blinding flash of blue light surrounded her, engulfed her. At the same instant, the same blue light suffused Mahant, bathing him in an ethereal glow as the red light blinked faster. A shimmering curtain of force sprung around him. Around the box.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Around the bomb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a flash, and a dull </span>
  <em>
    <span>whump</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a stifled roar, an impact to the air. Soru’Nal and the marines flung their hands up in front of their faces, uselessly. Shepard stood statue-still, sweat beading down her face, her attention firmly on the barrier she’d thrown up, the barrier that crackled and fizzled and buckled under the cataclysmic pressure so desperate to expand, to push past the field of biotic force and lick its flaming tendrils around the Spectre, around the cargo-bay, around the ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The barrier held.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few moments, she let it drop, daring to allow herself to breathe. She glanced around the cargo bay, as if surprised it was still standing. The rush of adrenaline slowly began to ebb, replaced by fatigue, by the pain of the gunshot wound Ras’Taanis was going to have an absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>field day</span>
  </em>
  <span> admonishing her about. Not to mention Liara…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Keelah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Shepard,” Soru breathed. “Does this happen every time you disembark my ship?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. A Future</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Liara provides a revelation. Shepard makes a desperate gambit. Soru shows why she's the Captain.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“... have you ever had to deal with a Spectre before, Captain Teeus?” Shepard snarled at the holographic image of a cowed, stammering freighter Captain. “Few turians have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liara, bent over a GeneSys crate with a scanner, lifted her head sharply and stared daggers at her bondmate but said nothing. She very pointedly dropped her glance to the quarian doctor conducting an impromptu operation. In the cargo bay. At Shepard's insistence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ras’Taanis, to her credit, was staying as out of sight of the vid call as she could, murmuring to herself as she dug at the Spectre’s side with a clamp and pair of forceps, trying to dig out a stubborn bullet. There was a gentle </span>
  <em>
    <span>clink</span>
  </em>
  <span> of metal as she pulled out yet another metal shard and dropped it into a pan swirled with fresh water and blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll make it simple,” Shepard continued, ignoring all this. “Either you’re taking on twenty-six additional hands, their belongings, and enough supplies to keep them comfortable and well-fed for their journey coreward - or it’ll be me, boarding your ship. And I promise you, Captain, that a Spectre boarding action is </span>
  <em>
    <span>remarkably</span>
  </em>
  <span> more detrimental to your business than a civilian boarding action.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hung up on the call, glaring downward at the quarian doctor. “You’re enjoying this too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the contrary, Shepard. I do not, in fact, enjoy taking bullets out of you. The frequency with which you allow bullets into you, however, suggests </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> might enjoy it...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't get shot </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> often…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soru'Nal, Liara and Ras'Taanis all paused to look at her, heads tilted and arms folded in identical poses of disapproval.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, okay," she winced only slightly as she held up appeasing hands. “Change of subject. Anything further from those crates?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Soru offered. “No additional incendiary devices, no tracking or listening equipment. I suppose it would be considered somewhat of a waste, what with either the wetwork team or the bomb killing you, there would be no need to listen in on your last conversations.” She sniffed. “How unexpected. Who might have predicted such a chain of events? Not I, certainly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard groaned. “You were right, Soru, but this isn’t about Supay. It isn’t even about the cruiser we’re supposed to be chasing. Something different is going on, here. Septiria and Aelbana were fishing for reasons to recall us back to Sol. Hackett, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Explain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flash of pain crossed the Spectre’s face, just as Ras’Taanis grunted in approval. She held up the wicked-looking splinter of metal she’d just plucked from Shepard’s side and made sure Shepard saw it before dropping it loudly into the tin. The Spectre rolled her eyes. “Just… close that, would you, so I can put my shirt back on? It’s cold in here.” She risked a look towards Liara. Her asari was still scanning cargo crates with a less-than-impressed expression on her captivating face…  but despite her obvious annoyance and concern with human recklessness, she was stealing glances when she didn’t think Shepard was looking. The emerald wink she flashed let Liara know she’d been caught, and the creep of an indigo blush on the back of the asari’s neck was reward enough to bring a smile to her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s unrest in Sol,” Shepard turned back to an impatiently waiting Soru’Nal. “Hackett mentioned Terra Firma making a comeback, which isn’t good. They need a ‘win’ for the Federation to maintain control. That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be us, apparently, returning home with all the bounty of the Traverse in tow. I was told in no uncertain terms that if we didn’t come up with at least some of what the Federation needs to start re-taking C-Space, they’d recall us and find someone who could.” Her face clouded over. “Aelbana </span>
  <em>
    <span>specifically</span>
  </em>
  <span> mentioned GeneSys, now that I think of it. Just how big has this salarian pharmaceutical gotten, if they’re doing private security as well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One mystery at a time,” Soru interjected. “Terra Firma… human supremacists, yes? Like Cerberus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like Cerberus,” Shepard sighed. “But without the paramilitary wing. For now, at least. I don’t know how much power and influence Terra Firma has amassed, but Hackett at least seemed concerned at the threat of a possible civil war.” The Spectre realized she was pacing away from Ras’Taanis and forced herself to stop, running a frustrated finger through her hair. “There are a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of nonhumans in Sol. Terra Firma gaining ground…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They have set you up to fail, Shepard.” Ras’Taanis said quietly. “From everything we have seen, the Traverse was even more aggressively depopulated during the War than Alliance or Citadel Space. They want material and personnel to fight the Reaper remnants… but they simply aren’t available. Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, that seems to be the case.” Soru’s tone was one of defeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Furthermore, the Traverse is largely settled by </span>
  <em>
    <span>humans</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” the doctor continued. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not exclusively, but… yes,” Shepard admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, the Federation wants to recruit humans into military service, to fight against the Reaper remnants in C-Space.” She gave the Spectre and the Captain a pointed look. “To reclaim nonhuman worlds. Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard’s eyes hardened. “Which is more likely to </span>
  <em>
    <span>cause</span>
  </em>
  <span> a civil war than prevent one, if Terra Firma is gaining the kind of ground that would make Hackett seriously concerned about their surge in popularity.” She hissed only slightly as the doctor finished administering medi-gel to her injured side, feeling a chill rock through her as the antiseptic ointment first froze, then began to knit the torn muscle and flesh. “It doesn’t make sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s without taking into account this attempt on your life. On all our lives,” Soru added. “Why demand results from you, only to put a contract on your head? Are we certain those salarians </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> STG?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pretty familiar with STG tactics, and they were certainly armed appropriately.” Shepard shook her head. “Six highly-trained salarian deep cover agents, working in tandem? Who else would they be? There’s something else at play here that we aren’t seeing. None of this makes sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to regroup and figure out our next move,” Soru agreed. “Once the civilians are offloaded and the supplies are onboard, we can-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t leave my people here.” Liara’s voice was soft, but firm. “Not anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three heads swiveled to stare at the asari.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Birdie, I know you’re worried about them - but is it going to be any safer on a ship that for all we know, the Federation has flagged as an enemy?” Shepard offered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet, I do not hear you calling to have Aethyta and Benezia and I stay behind.” Liara’s posture was dangerous, her tone icy. Shepard blinked, took an involuntary step back. “Is the Moreh too dangerous for my people, but safe enough for our daughters?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… that’s not fair,” Shepard said after a moment, her face reddening. “I’ll keep you and the girls safe, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ll-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you will.” Liara’s face and tone softened. “Just as I know you’ll keep my people safe. Safer than they would be, here, in Federation hands, or on a freighter headed Goddess knows where, in the hands of a Captain you had to threaten to gain his assistance.” The asari took a deep, steadying breath. “I know of a safe place we can bring them - and where we can regroup, as you say, and formulate answers for our questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you're only mentioning this now?" Soru challenged, glancing at Shepard. The Spectre, frowning, shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You have never asked for my input, Captain," Liara countered. "And these are extraordinary circumstances. I had hoped…" She took another steadying breath. "I had hoped to never return where we must go. To a Union settlement within the Caleston Rift."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We are a Federation warship, Doctor," Ras'Taanis said quietly. "The Union is unlikely to receive us cordially."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Us? No," Shepard shook her head. "But Liara?" Her jaw set. "I should have put it together sooner. I caught glimpses, through the meld. You…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes," Liara finished, her tone calculatedly neutral. "I helped found the Attican Union."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Keelah</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Soru swore, filling the shocked, sudden silence of the bay.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps it would be helpful,” T’Nere offered, “if we started from the beginning. Doctor T’Soni?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The command crew of the Moreh stood about a cramped briefing room in front of the glowing hololithic image of a swirling blue globe. The five quarian officers huddled in a group, speaking in low tones, their expressions and body language inimical. Taliid and Toxo, the turian navigator and salarian science officer, both poured over the same data-pad, heads shaking. T’Nere leaned languidly against the briefing table, her eyes firmly on Shepard and Liara. The asari scientist sat quietly with her hands and her gaze in her lap. Her Spectre bondmate stood behind her, likewise silent. Shepard’s countenance was dark, but she had a hand on her asari’s shoulders, gently kneading the tension from them - a display of support for her, and a challenge to the others, both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I imagine it was somewhat similar to how the Federation came together,” Liara spoke in a voice that seemed to come from very far away. “At first, it was just the crew of the Normandy. We had founded a community, after the Crucible and the crash… but our dextro-amino supplies were running low. We needed a way off-world. So we salvaged every scrap of communications equipment we could find, until… Until we found a quarian liveship, set adrift when their relay collapsed. Just like us. The Vanyah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced up and took one of Shepard’s hands in her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We wanted to try to return to Sol; the quarians, to Rannoch. We did not have the fuel or the supplies to do either, so we began to search amidst the stars for the means to do so. And we begun to find… people. Lost, as we were. It was always another settlement that needed help, and another - with Reapers, with pirates, with finding supplies. Kaidan - Major Alenko - said we should try to build something permanent, that it was the only way we were going to be able to survive in this new galaxy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard took Liara's hand in both of hers. "It would be Kaidan, God love him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes," Liara smiled tremulously. "He wanted to establish somethin similar to the Alliance, with a more strict structural foundation. I envisioned something more akin to the asari Republics; small communities banded together, informal leadership structures and hierarchies. We wanted to make them self-sustainable, but able to rely on each other in times of need."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just when I think I can't get more impressed by you," Shepard laughed lightly, "you go and found a new galactic government."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you imagine I would meekly await my Spectre savior to come rescue me?" Liara asked, her eyes dancing with amusement but her lips pursed. "I needed to build a future for our children, my bondmate."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, yes," Taliid, the Moreh's Chief Navigator, grunted. "You two are insufferably in love. Please, continue, Doctor." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Spectre choked out a laugh, but Liara looked sufficiently mortified. "Yes, my apologies. This is where we planted our flag, so to speak.” She indicated the swirling blue globe. “Arvuna, a water world, one of the moons of Dranen. There were several Alliance colonies left entirely untouched by the war: the Aysur system is remote, and due to Dranen’s magnetosphere, any settlements on Arvuna have to be heavily shielded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s several relay jumps and a not-insignificant FTL journey away,” Taliid lamented. “The Moreh can make the journey, but if your Union friends aren’t there, it’s going to be an uncomfortable journey back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would require approximately 76% of crew into stasis to conserve fuel and resources on event of unsupplied return,” Chief Science Officer Toxo interjected. “Significant risk to civilian population.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They are there,” Liara said flatly. “When the Federation began annexing colonies, that is where most colonists were re-located to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stayed on Supay.” Shepard was quiet, thoughtful. “You didn’t approve of the decision to abandon what you’d built.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I envisioned clusters of self-sustaining agrarian communities,” her asari agreed. “I envisioned a different galaxy emerging from the ruins of the old. I envisioned growth, change. Progress.” Her face clouded over with obvious frustration. “Kaidan and the others envisioned… something different. As did your Federation, obviously. Nobody is learning from the mistakes of the past, and we all seem to be rushing to repeat them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, exactly, did this Major Alenko ‘envision’ that you did not approve with? You mentioned you didn’t see yourself returning to Arvuna,” Soru queried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ships. Weapons. A Union militia,” Liara sighed. “Kaidan wanted to take the fight to the pirates and Reapers - and yes, the Federation - that threatened what we wanted to build. I told him that defending ourselves was one thing, but going on the offensive-” She shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He told you ‘defense is death,’ didn’t he?” Shepard asked, a strange look on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liara frowned. “How did you..?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because those are my words,” the Spectre finished, her expression unreadable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An awkward silence fell over the briefing room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, Agent Shepard? Captain Soru’Nal?” a timid voice spoke up at last: </span>
  <span>Waese'Laaris, the Communications Officer.</span>
  <span> “There’s a priority message coming through. It’s… it’s the Admiralty Board. They actually called several minutes ago, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Captain unleashed a stream of profanity that had every quarian in the room nearly covering their aurals. “This is an unmitigated disaster,” she finally managed. “Are they calling to confirm your death, Shepard? Or bid us farewell, imagining we are unaware of the bomb that is supposed to be on board?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard’s expression had shifted from unreadable to wolfish. “Bring them up. Do it here, Comms.” She turned her lopsided grin towards the Captain at her spluttered protestations. “Do you play Skyllian Five, Soru?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am… familiar.” Soru looked lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think of it like calling a bluff. On screen, Comms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shepard,” Hackett began as soon as the channel was open enough for his grizzled, greying face to appear via the holographic image, “You’d better have a damned good reason for hanging up on me. On the Admiralty Board. This isn’t a goddamn game-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apologies, Admiral,” Shepard said sweetly, standing at a perfectly respectable parade rest. The other members of the Moreh’s command crew fidgeted under the withering gaze of not only Hackett but the other members of the Federation board. “I was rudely interrupted, myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw, Shepard,” Tevos broke in, her own voice much more subdued than Hackett. There was a measure of concern in her eyes. “What happened? Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wetworks team.” The Spectre’s voice, by comparison, had taken a definite turn for the insubordinate. “Pretty good one, too. Five at the comms terminal and a few neighboring storehouses and offices, and one at the cargo bay the Moreh’s moored at. He was trying to plant a bomb on my bird, amidst our re-supply.” She paused a beat, for effect. “They’re all neutralized. I’m fine, by the way, but thank you for asking, Matriarch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Admirals exchanged glances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You… hung up on us to kill six assassins and defuse a bomb,” Septiria said in a flat tone, her mandibles twitching irritatedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More of a controlled detonation, Primarch, but yes.” Shepard’s placidness was deliberately insufferable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Admiral’s subsequent silence was shattered by Criid’s croaking laughter. All at once, the others began speaking over each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... considers these briefings to be a joke, by the Spirits I do not know why we allow-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-the identity of the assassins? What exactly are you caught up in out there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... collateral damage to the relay reconstruction could cause months of setbacks-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stone-faced, Tevos stood and strode from view. Only Aelbana remained silent, watching Shepard with eyes more cybernetic than organic, her face half-obscured behind the cowl of her ceremonial robe. Shepard met her gaze coolly, allowing the other Admirals to speak over each other for a few moments before interjecting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Respectfully, Admirals, but I will be declining additional status updates for the time being. I’m afraid I’m taking the liberty of de-prioritizing my current mission, as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now hold on just a minute, Shepard,” Hackett growled. “I agree this development complicates matters, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t a request for permission, Admiral,” Shepard said plainly. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, someone tried to put a bullet in my back and a bomb on my bird, and I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to meet them. Shepard out.” She didn’t take her glance away from the holographic image. “Comms… cut the feed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was silent for a moment when the hologram flickered off. Shepard looked down to Liara. “Birdie? Thoughts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dalatrass… Aelbana? Is the obvious suspect,” the asari began, thoughtfully. “Sur’Kesh has little love for you in particular, Sybilla, and if the assassins were indeed STG, as you believe, it is unfathomable that the reigning Dalatrass of the salarian Union would be ignorant of an STG hit on a Council Spectre.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The reactions of the other Admirals seems genuine,” Shepard admitted. “And a wetworks team doesn’t really fit the profile for any of them. Hackett or Septiria would send a dreadnought, and Criid is even less subtle. Wenn'Taesa lacks motive, and I don’t believe he’d ever willingly endanger quarian lives by destroying one of his own ships. That leaves Tevos and Aelbana, and honestly? If Tevos put a hit on me, I doubt I’d see it coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You very nearly did not see </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> one coming,” Liara reminded her, “but I agree. If Aelbana ordered the attempt on your life, it is likely she did it without the knowledge of the other Admirals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is fascinating,” Taliid drawled, “But does not lead us with a clear path.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Respectfully, Chief Navigator,” Ras’Taanis broke in, “But it does. If Agent Shepard, or Captain Soru’Nal, or both, have become targets of the Dalatrass, we cannot safely return to Federation space at the moment. We have no idea what may be lying in wait for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plan to find alleged Union headquarters could be problematic,” Toxo argued. “Lack of supplies, distance involved, Union reception upon arrival…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hell,” Shepard cursed quietly. “We need to leave.” Her omni-tool blinked quietly. “It’s a transmission, from Matriarch Tevos. Unsecured channel. Sent to me, but not addressed to me.” A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips. “Very slick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liara’s glance was equal parts curious and dubious. “What does the Councillor have to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘My sweet Danai,’” Shepard read aloud. “‘I am afraid circumstances conspire to keep me from you. I must cancel on our dinner reservation. Our closest friends are still en-route, however. Impart upon them my warmest regards. My thoughts are with you, always. Aeava.’” She closed the message, sparing Liara a slightly guilty look. “</span>
  <span>‘Our closest friends are still en-route,’” she repeated. “We’re about to have company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soru stiffened, and indecision seemed to slough off of the quarian like a shed skin. “Flight Lieutenant Hel'Lifin, make ready to depart, on the double. Chief Navigator Taliid, plot a course. Caleston Rift, Balor relay. XO Shepard, we shall beat to quarters.” The Captain turned to Liara. “Doctor T’Soni… will you see to your people? Make sure they are secure aboard the ship, and that they are in no danger of getting in the way of operational crew.” Soru lifted her chin, and her voice. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Keelah se'lai</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Moreh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Keelah se'lai</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Captain,” the command crew echoed, as one.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard was singing under her breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noise itself was not particularly unpleasant, Communications Officer Waese'Laaris nar Alarei reflected, and to the young quarian’s surprise, the human Spectre had a surprisingly good voice, and an even better ear for timbre and tone. Waese couldn’t quite make out the words, and wasn’t positive she would understand them even if she could, but the predatory smile on Shepard’s face gave some insight into her mental state, at least. It was… disquieting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bridge of the Moreh was a flurry of activity, not seen since the frenetic drop and escape under the nose of the pirate flotilla over Supay. Both the XO and the Captain were rarely at the CIC at the same time, and there was a nervous energy bubbling over the bridge officers, almost a confusion as to whom their first instinct to obey should be. Predominantly quarian, most of the body language on display was uncertainty, worry, with an edge of fear. The events of the last few hours had been a deal more action than the crew was used to facing, and it showed. Captain Soru’Nal, cool and controlled at all times, moved from station to station, offering a quiet word of encouragement, a gentle order.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Spectre, however…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard gripped a rail overseeing fire control and the GARDIAN consoles leading down to the cockpit itself, a towering figure in black and gold, the Citadel’s Special Tactics and Reconnaissance division crest a burning brand upon her breast. Her emerald gaze swept the CIC with the intensity of a hunting raptor, her fierce, lopsided grin testament to her near-legendary fearlessness and resolve. She projected an aura of invincibility, a fixed point in the galaxy around which all else rotated. Being caught in her orbit was exhilarating, terrifying, but somehow comforting in itself. It conjured up stories of the Normandy from the war, of the legendary crew that had saved the galaxy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, to have been the Comms Officer on that crew...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A blip on her console snapped her attention back to reality. “Ma’am?” Waese cleared her throat, and found herself wishing she could curl up into a ball when those raptor’s eyes fell upon her. Captain Soru’Nal turned as well. “Picking up something on the long-range scanner.” She swiped at her haptic interface to forward the results to the rest of the bridge crew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Federation IFF,” Soru mused. “Dreadnought-class, Alliance manufacture. Perhaps you were right about Admiral Hackett, Shepard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Criid would have strapped an FTL drive to an asteroid,” the Spectre guffawed. “Alliance manufacture?” She shook her head. “I’m disappointed, Steven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Positive ID,” Waese hazarded. “UFV Beirut.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard’s eyebrows raised. “That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> bird. Someone is </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> upset with me. D’you mind, Captain?” Soru shook her head, amusement tinged with apprehension on her stance. “Comms, open a channel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Acknowledged.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a few moments’ pause. LADAR scans showed the Beirut approaching on their six, the Alliance dreadnought almost effortlessly catching up to the smaller, lighter quarian vessel. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If it gets in range of that main gun…</span>
  </em>
  <span> Waese was already sweating under her suit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A turian’s gruff, grizzled features appeared over hologram. “This is Commodore Quintus of the Beirut,” he challenged, his flanged vocals pronouncing the human word with some difficulty. “In the name of the Federation, you are ordered to halt engines and drop shields, and submit for boarding and questioning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Quintus,” Shepard grinned. “It’s been a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shepard,” the turian snarled, annunciating every syllable. “I was told you’d be aboard this vessel, but I didn’t quite believe it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a spectacular coincidence,” Shepard said mildly. “Almost as if someone had arranged for you to be ‘in the neighborhood’ when we made our re-supply. But I’m sure you don’t know anything about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Quintus growled. “As usual. We were alerted to an incident aboard the Attican Beta relay station. A firefight, multiple casualties. Your ship - and a suspect matching your description - was listed as being of interest in the investigation. You are to be brought in for questioning on six homicides.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Shepard agreed. “You’re far too stupid to know what’s going on. All you can see is the bait being dangled in front of your face, and like the good little dog you are, you’re dashing straight after it.” She peered around what she could see of the Commodore’s bridge. “Is Ereba there? Onwuache? Or did you replace my crew when they gave you my ship as reward for bringing me in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is none of your-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vice-Admiral!” a youthful voice broke in, and a teal-faced asari appeared at the edge of the display.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to hear from you, Flight Lieutenant,” Shepard smiled. “It’s just ‘Agent’ Shepard now, I’m afraid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t lower your kinetic barriers and submit to a boarding, it’s going to be ‘the late Commander Shepard,’” Quintus broke in, shooting Ereba a dangerous look. “We are obtaining firing solutions as we speak. Surrender, Shepard. This farce of yours is over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surrender? Very well.” The human’s face was insufferably smug. “I accept.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You… what?” Quintus did a double-take, his mandibles clacking in the turian approximation of confusion. Around Shepard, the CIC of the Moreh broke into shocked whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I accept your surrender, Commodore. Have your crew lower your shields and submit to be boarded by </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. On authority of the Citadel Council, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch.” She tapped the insignia on her breast twice. Wild hilarity burned in her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the Beirut, someone out of sight snorted a clipped laugh. Quintus quivered in rage. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> mock me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At every opportunity,” the Spectre said cheerfully. She glanced towards Hel'Lifin, pitching her voice to carry. “Computer, make a note in the log that Commodore Quintus was given a direct order under Spectre authority, and refused. Further note that Commodore Quintus has refused to disable kinetic barriers or weapons and has placed the UFV Beirut in an aggressive posture. I am left with no choice but to engage. Flight Lieutenant? Adapt strafing pattern Alpha-Alpha-Bravo.” She glanced back towards the hologram. “Last chance, Quintus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am going to enjoy this,” the apoplectic turian hissed. “Helm, full power to forward thrusters. Weapons Officer, engage prow accelerator.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooh,” Shepard breathed. “That’s going to be a problem, Quintus. You’re really not familiar with Alliance vessels, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The turian paused, mandibles pulled inwards in the equivalent of a frown. “What are you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Alliance,” Shepard drawled, “fields - or rather, fielded - two classes of dreadnought, the older Everest-class and the newer Kilimanjaro-class. Everests - like my mother’s, the Orizaba - mount a main prow accelerator capable of propelling a twenty-kilo slug to one-point-three percent of the speed of light. That’s a thirty-eight kiloton payload. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> of a gun.” She paced slightly, gesturing as she spoke. “The newer Kilimanjaros swapped the main accelerator for a battery of one-hundred-fifty-six smaller accelerators, mounted port and starboard, seventy-eight apiece.” When she stopped pacing, the grin on her face nearly threatened to crack her cheeks in two. “The Beirut is a Kilimanjaro, you stiff-necked, oversized turkey. She’s a broadside boat, which I’m sure the esteemed Flight Lieutenant Ereba has been trying to tell you this entire time, but you’ve been too pre-occupied preening your mandible-paint to pay attention. I’m going to carve you like Christmas dinner before you’ve even halfway turned that tub of yours.” Quintus gaped soundlessly at her. She blew him a kiss. “Flight Lieutenant, you are cleared to engage. Shepard, out. Comms, cut signal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shepard," Soru began quietly as the hologram dissipated, "I am no expert on Alliance ship design… but it would strike me as exceedingly poor planning if they designed a dreadnought with no forward firing capabilities."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, the Beirut is fully capable of firing at us right now," Shepard grinned. "But Quintus doesn't know that, and he's not going to listen to anyone who tells him otherwise. That gives us enough time to make at least one pass, maybe two, before he figures it out. Let’s make them count."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soru's body practically vibrated with a terrifying excitement. "Flight Lieutenant, bring us directly overtop the Beirut. I want us so close their GARDIAN can't track us effectively. Give them two volleys of javelins, danger close; non-essential compartments. Lets keep casualties to a minimum, if possible."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The deck shifted subtly beneath them as the Moreh's drive-core lit up and the quarian frigate propelled forward. To Shepard's immense satisfaction, the Beirut was, indeed, attempting to bring its broadside accelerators to bear. The Moreh screamed forward, a silver dart through the black.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Full power, forward kinetic barriers."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Drive core fully engaged. Full power, forward kinetics. Weapons hot."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard kissed two fingers and pressed them against a console. "Give 'em hell, girl," she whispered fiercely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ship shuddered and rocked as explosions rent the superstructure of the massive dreadnought below. GARDIAN laser turrets flickered and danced, exchanging coruscating beams of energy, depleting shields and searing pockmarks across the hull. Fire control's console lit up like a Christmas tree. "Direct hit!" the young turian manning the javelins called out. "Beirut's barriers down to 40%. Their communications array is badly damaged. Shall I prime for another pass, ma'am?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ready salvo." Soru's fingers flashed across a haptic interface, feeding streaming data across a dozen screens and stations throughout the CIC. "Flight Lieutenant, stay on her stern. If she can bring her broadsides to bear it's going to be a short sortie. Navigator, I want a flight solution through that relay when we finish our second pass."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"On it, ma'am," Taliid barked. "XO Shepard is overriding relay clearance with her Spectre code as we speak. Path is plotted, and FTL is green. I'm five by five on your mark, Captain."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Coming in for another run, Captain. Re-routing drive core charge. Hang on, this one will be bumpy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Our barriers are at sixty percent, Captain. I've got nothing to re-route additional power from."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Buy me ninety seconds, Soru," Shepard muttered distractedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We don't have ninety seconds, Shepard," the quarian warned. "They're lining up shots." The Beirut's tertiary accelerators began to glow blue as powerful eezo-electromagnets spun and whirled to life, ready to slingshot their deadly payload.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Javelins, away! Right up the tailpipe - uhh, direct hit, Captain. Beirut shields depleted. Communications, out. Drive core, critical."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Those guns are still online. Flight Lieutenant?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Re-routing power to shields, ma'am. Fourty-six percent and dropping. Drive core is in the red. We need to jump, and soon."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shepard, we need that relay open, now!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ten seconds," Shepard cursed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We don't have ten seconds! Beirut is primed to fire, all hands brace for impact-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Got you</span>
  </em>
  <span>," the Spectre breathed, snapping her fingers. "We’re clear, go go go go go!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The floor beneath their feet shuddered, tilted, as the Moreh’s drive core hit critical, preparing to fling the vessel across the vast cosmos. The Beirut’s accelerators boiled lethal pulses of blue, dogs of war straining to be released. The Beta relay swirled and spun as its own massive eezo core engaged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hitting the relay in five… four… ready… steady…”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was wondering where you'd gotten to."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The aft observation deck was surprisingly empty, save for the svelte figure of the asari silhouetted by the steady streaking of stars and the billowing vapor-clouds of nebulae. Liara sat with her back to the door, face shrouded in the shadow of the darkened room, hugging the knees she'd drawn up to her chest. It was quiet, and more than a little cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shepard stepped lightly into the room, concern tinged with self-consciousness on her face as she settled down onto the deck next to her asari. "You want some company?" She kept her tone easy, open, and tentatively slipped an arm around her. The maiden murmured wordlessly and burrowed deeper into the embrace, resting her head on the tall woman's shoulder. They sat in silence for a few minutes, just enjoying each other's warmth and presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is everything okay?" she asked finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Liara whispered. "No. I am terrified, Sybilla" She shifted into Shepard's embrace, swung her legs over so that she was sitting in her human's lap, facing her but not daring to meet her eye. "I love you. I love you more than there are words. But I-... I cannot lose you again. You've been taken from me so many times…" She shivered against her human's touch. "You could have been killed today, Sybilla.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, hey," she lifted her asari’s chin with two fingers, pressing their foreheads together. Not for the first time she marvelled at the soothing coolness of Liara’s slightly pebbled scales, the reassuring comfort of her closeness, the way even such a simple act of intimacy calmed her, set her frayed nerves and aching muscles at ease. “I’m okay. It’s barely a scratch…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This time!” Those blue, blue eyes brimmed with tears, and long, sure blue fingers grasped at Shepard’s collar. “Sybilla, there are two children waiting for us in our cabin. They are waiting for you to finish the story you started last evening, and Aethyta is fascinated with Earth and wants to know when you’re going to take her, and Benezia heard from Saith how you trained with huntresses and wants you to train her how to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> a huntress..” She stifled a sob. “If something had happened to you...what would I have told them? What </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> I have told them?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Shepard swallowed, hard, her eyes closing as a wave of nausea and guilt swept over her. “I am so sorry, Liara, I didn’t… You’re right, of course. I am so sorry. I know how hard it is for you to… to watch me keep doing this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sybilla...” Liara whispered, pulling herself closer, her own arms wrapping around her human’s neck, her head resting in the crook of her shoulder. The tips of her crest tickled the back of her ear. “The war is over, my love. Maybe you don’t have to be Commander Shepard, anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is the war over?” She quivered with emotion: frustration, fear, sorrow, love. Her voice was low and threaded with bitterness. “The Federation is run by soldiers, Liara. When a soldier doesn’t have a war to fight, we end up looking for one."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then let us go somewhere far away from all of this," Liara urged. "Like we spoke of, before. They will use you and use you and use you until there is nothing left, Sybilla. They did it before and they are doing it to you now. I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> the strain inside of your heart, my love, the fatigue, the hurt. I feel it each time we meld. In the entire time I have known you, we have been running from one fight to another. Do you not wish for more than this? Than a life full of violence and terror?" She gripped Shepard's hands almost painfully tightly. "Do you not wish for a life of just you, and I, and our daughters? A life where we grow old together, watching Aethyta and Benezia blossom and flourish?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> I want." Shepard's voice shook. "If I thought we could slip away, the four of us, and never be bothered again, I would go the moment we touched down on Arvuna. But if someone on the Admiralty wants me dead… Liara, they will never stop hunting us."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They will steal you away from me," the maiden whispered. "Like they always do. I know you, Sybilla. They will ask for your help. It will be a cause that is noble, and just. And because you are brave, and selfless, and good, you will help them. And you'll do it again, and again, and again, each and every time they ask, no matter what the cost is to yourself. Because you cannot stop giving of yourself to everyone else." Warm tears flowed down Liara's cheeks. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, my love. Do not let them drag you into a new war. Your daughters and I need our Sybilla more than this galaxy needs Commander Shepard."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wellspring of grief flooded the Spectre as she clung desperately to the woman that loved her, the raw and vulnerable asari stripped bare in her fear of losing her bondmate yet again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't want to have to be Commander Shepard anymore." Her voice was low, and pained, and urgent. "I've worn this uniform so long… I don't know what's underneath anymore. I don't know if there's anything left of Sybilla, anymore." She pushed her forehead against Liara's, eyes squeezed shut. "But I'm gonna try, Liara. I promise, I'm gonna try. If you… if you still-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft mouth closed around hers, cut her off even as it pulled her in, and it was as if a warm spring wind had blown away her fear, her tension, her insecurities. Her hand was cool against her cheek, and her fingers were soothing threading through her hair, and the warmth and softness of her body was a sweet promise pressed against her, and the sweetness of her lips, of her tongue was a nectar that flooded through her, a heat and a tenderness reassured as much as it intoxicated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I want you," Liara murmured, "all there is of you, for as long as we have together. My bondmate. My love. My human." She kissed her softly with each affirmation, her tears dried, eyes puffy but glimmering with love. With hope. "Meld with me?" She looked up at her from under long lashes, a tremulous smile forming. Shepard just smiled and closed her eyes expectantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the gentlest, most tentative nudge against her mind; a shallow melding of minds and bodies and souls. Blue-white and deep ocean waves of biotic energy swirled and entwined around them as their biotics, like their souls, recognized each other, fit together like the missing pieces of a puzzle. There were no images, to the meld, save for glowing shapes and swirling colors, like afterimages from eyes held too tightly shut. There were scarcely any words, not that they were needed. All Shepard felt was the warmth and reassurance of Liara's love, of her affecting, of her trust, and like the opening of floodgates, her own devotion and adoration for her asari poured out of her, cascading over both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There is blue. Blue so warm and deep, wide as the ocean, soft like the moon.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perfume on the collar of your lover's sweater.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A whisper, a promise. Breathy notes against a blushing neck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Red, red lipstick on the rim of a wineglass.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A catchy tune you can dance to. The creak of a favorite chair.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"We'll run away. We'll run away and build a home, together."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I am home. Your heart is my home."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The children were asleep when Shepard and Liara returned to their cabin to check on them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Nezzie is so protective of ‘Tia,'" Shepard mused in a hushed tone, slipping the data-pad from the slumbering asari’s hands and putting it away, the page from the story they’d been reading together saved for another night. She stood hovered over the pair, adjusting the covers over their sleeping form just so, eyes shining in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liara pressed her lips together, her own eyes dancing with amusement. “‘Nezzie’ and ‘Tia’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not understand the human fixation with shortening names,” she laughed lightly. “Particularly when it also seems to be human culture to place great importance on lengthy or multiple names.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's cute! ‘Nezzie’ and ‘Tia’ sound cute. Just like they are. My little blueberries...” Her smile was contemplative. "They're so good. I was a monster at their age. And so smart, and curious, and brave…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I cannot express to you, my love," Liara whispered, crossing the room to wrap herself around Shepard's arm and breathe into the crook of her neck, "what it does to me to watch you speak and act around our daughters. You are so… It is a side of you I have never seen."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a side I didn't know existed," she admitted. "But God… I loved them the second I laid eyes on them. I still can hardly believe it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Our daughters</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Birdie. It's surreal."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was afraid you'd be angry with me." The asari's eyes were downcast, her face suddenly drawn. "I did not exactly… ask… when I…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’m not angry.” She looked at her, pensively, touching their foreheads together. “To be honest, I’m not totally sure how I feel. Guilty, for not being there. To watch them grow up to this, to help you… I wasn’t there for their birth, for their first words, to watch them learn to crawl, to walk… And that isn’t your fault.” She placed a reassuring kiss on her lover’s forehead. “I don’t blame you. It’s just… a lot, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted you to be there so desperately.” Liara’s grip on her human’s arm tightened. “Often, we asari are raised without our fathers involved in our lives, for a variety of reasons. I did not want that, Sybilla. I shared with them every memory of you I could. Of us. I wanted them to always know they had a father, and she loved them.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“They told me. I can’t tell you what that means to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” She pressed a kiss on Shepard’s cheek. “I can see it every time we meld, love.” Shepard made a pleasant noise and nuzzled her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taliid said we had around thirty hours’ transit time, in the relay. I don't want to wake them - want to go grab a drink in the lounge?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The asari closed her eyes a moment, her face suffused by a glowing smile. "My bondmate just tucked our daughters into bed and is asking me if I want to share a drink with her. What is the human expression? 'Pinch me?'"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I know it's around here somewhere," the Spectre grunted, rooting through the bar of the ship's quiet, slightly dingy lounge. Much of the space had been converted into additional living spaces for the Moreh's score of unexpected guests, with the long couches and most of the chairs claimed by colonist and sailor alike, slumbering or reading or conversing in low tones. The low-top bar and its assortment of creaky metal stools was unoccupied, however. Liara perched overtop one, toying with a pair of empty tumblers as she admired her bondmate's lean, athletic figure: the way her jaw-length hair flitted about the lovely lines of her neck, the way she filled out the military-style black and gold tunic she'd chosen, the way the muscles in her shoulders worked under it, the roundness of her hips and the shapeliness of her legs...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why, Doctor T'Soni, what big eyes you have."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sybilla's gaze flashed and sparkled with an emerald mischief, her lips curved in a lopsided grin that was equal parts lascivious and teasing. She rose slowly, her gaze unblinking, her posture suggestive, that insufferable smirk on those lips. Liara blushed from neck-fold to the tips of her crest, realized that she'd been chewing on her bottom lip, realized that she'd been caught blatantly ogling her human. Her own smile was shy, but the heat in her eyes was anything but. “Did you find what you were looking for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In more ways than one.” Sybilla wiggled a long-necked bottle that sloshed half-full with a golden amber liquid, her smile turned triumphant. "It isn't from Armali… but it's a little taste of home."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liara's brow rose appreciatively. "There cannot be many bottles of that left. Wherever did you find one?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Sybilla’s turn to blush. “It was an apology, from Aeava. Tevos,” she corrected, the blush deepening slightly. “After...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After she attempted to seduce you?” Liara cooed, pleased to be on the giving side of their teasing, for once. “This is quite the apology, Sybilla. Although…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Although?” She splashed a generous pour into each glass, sliding one across to the asari before cupping hers, resting it against her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Although, given the choice between an intimate evening with Aeava Tevos and a bottle of brandy, I feel as though you have perhaps made the poorer choice-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Liara</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have always thought her </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> attractive,” Liara shrugged, taking a long sip from her glass. She found herself blinking owlishly a second later as fire and ice coursed down her throat, through her belly. “That,” she marveled, “is quite something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The insufferable smirk returned. “Better than a night with Tevos?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tell me,” Liara giggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alas,” her human lamented, nursing her own drink. “I picked the bottle.” Her voice lowered, eyes flashing suggestively. “At least we both know our taste in asari is the same. You know, in case you ever wanted to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sybilla</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Her laugher was light, easy, and she swatted playfully at her human. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>dream</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only of you.” She leaned forward until their foreheads touched. Liara’s eyes slid closed in contentment, allowed herself to let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding in for years. “Only of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm. Good answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt a strong hand lightly close around her wrist, felt a thumb trace her veins, and the asari shivered slightly. She marvelled at how the most delicate touch of this woman could shoot through her, from toe to crest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will they all be waiting for us, on Arvuna?” Sybilla asked somewhat tentatively. “The crew. The Normandy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most. It has been a few years,” Liara admitted. “Kaidan, James, Karin, Joker, Samantha, EDI - I am certain they will have stayed, unless things have changed drastically within the Union. Garrus and Tali had both expressed a desire to journey to Rannoch. Javik…” She sighed, her expression distant. “Javik found adjusting to life after the war… difficult. He stayed with us for a time, but one morning he was simply gone. I would like to believe that he is out there, somewhere, and has found a measure of peace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sybilla’s eyebrows shot up. “You were </span>
  <em>
    <span>living </span>
  </em>
  <span>with Javik?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It took a considerable amount of patience on my part,” the asari confided, “but he had no-one else, and… despite our misgivings, I do sympathize with the loneliness he must feel. And,” a measure of her smile returned, “Aethyta and Benezia were </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> fond of him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would like to have seen that,” Sybilla said softly. They sat in silence for a moment, contemplative, just enjoying the drink and each other’s closeness. “Garrus and Tali finally got together, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They did.” Liara smiled at the memory. “I stood with Tali at their bonding ceremony. It was so beautiful, Sybilla, on alkali cliffs above the ocean… Arvuna’s oceans are as breathtaking as the </span>
  <span>Lu'norae. We danced in the rain until we were soaked and dizzy.” Her grip around Sybilla’s hand tightened. “You were so dearly missed, my love. Kaidan and James both offered to stand with Garrus but he elected to put an old piece of your armor on a chair. He said-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No Vakarian without Shepard,” Sybilla finished, her smile radiant, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so happy for him. For them. We’ll have to visit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know," Liara mused, thumbing away a tear before twirling a lock of black hair around her finger, "It would not have to be just a visit. We could raise our daughters anywhere. Perhaps not Earth, at the moment, but…” The asari felt her heart swell at the comprehension flooding through Sybilla’s green, green eyes. “But we have options. I am sure the quarians would welcome you with open arms. And the geth… And we would be close to Garrus and Tali.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rannoch?” Sybilla smiled thoughtfully. “Rannoch could be a good place to raise our daughters. I thought you might have suggested Nos Astra. Or even somewhere on Thessia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In truth, I would love to return to either of those worlds,” Liara admitted. “But Sybilla, is it safe to do so? We have heard nothing from Republic space in a decade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, sadly. "Most of what was C-Space is still in Reaper hands, save Sur'Kesh and Tuchanka. A year ago there were promising developments from Palaven, but," she drained her drink abruptly, eyes downcast. "we'd heard little from Thessia."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps that would be a fitting retirement plan, then, for the Savior of the Citadel and the Shadow Broker,” Liara mused. “Help re-take and re-build Armali. Help establish a community amidst the ruins of the T’Soni estate. Build a home, live off the land as we asari once did, long ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sybilla smiled, arching an eyebrow. “You were raised on an estate, surrounded by attendants. Do you know how to ‘live off the land’ even a little?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She giggled. “Bold words, from a woman who was born in space. Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aha,” Sybilla crowed, re-filling their glasses. “I spent three years in the mountains about Serrice. Archon Gadera once proudly told me I would in all likelihood ‘probably not starve if I was left stranded in the woods.’” She let out a self-deprecating laugh of her own. “Probably. As long as it was not for too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your pardon I crave, Huntress,” Liara rolled her eyes, still giggling. “Javik thought to teach Aethyta and Benezia to hunt. Benezia took to it like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>kiayze </span>
  </em>
  <span>in a slipstream. Aethyta, of course, wanted to know what each and every tree and flower was called, what berries could be eaten, the names of all the birds and the beasts…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My little forest princesses,” Sybilla grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sybilla…” The maiden cupped her human’s chin in her hands, luxuriating at the softness of her cheeks, of the soft touch of her hair against the back of her knuckles, at the way Sybilla’s green eyes shone down at her. “I am so happy we could talk about this. That you are as eager to begin anew as I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strong hands enveloped her own, and the Spectre leaned closer until they were nose to nose, forehead to forehead. She felt eyelashes flutter against her cheek and shivered at the thrill of the intimacy. “I seem to recall promising you marriage, old age, and a lot of little blue children.” Sybilla’s voice was low and needful. “And we’ve only really started on one of those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are absolutely right.” Liara’s smile was sly. “You have yet to - what is the human expression? ‘Make an honest woman out of me?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many times did we try, during the War?” Sybilla laughed. “Three? At least?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liara planted a kiss on the tip of her human’s nose. “Just another thing we will finally have time to do. Like this.” She snuck another kiss on the corner of an upturned chin, on the tiny birthmark she was so fond of. “And this.” She left a suckling kiss just below a half-closed eye. “And-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sybilla cut her off with her own mouth, a deep, lingering kiss that the asari felt in the tips of her crest. Her lips tasted of the fire of the brandy on her breath, of the icy isthir-berries that grow along the treeline of Serrice. Her hands trailed upwards, and she savored the cinnamon and rosewater smell of her hair as her fingers trailed through it, shuddered as Sybilla’s tongue ran along the inside of her lips, gasped as her lover dragged her own teeth down on her bottom lip and pulled backward ever so slightly, leaving her open-mouthed, wide-eyed, and panting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lots of time for that, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liara took a deep, steadying breath, as much intoxicated by her bondmate as the drink. “Goddess, I hope so.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1000 views! Thank youuuuuuuuuuuu &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Reunions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Shepard has a dream... or a warning. Plunkett and Doll have concerns about humanity's place in the galaxy. Liara has reservations about Kaidan. Vega comes to terms with why Shepard left him aboard the Normandy.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “I’m proud of you. You did good, child. You… you did good. I’m proud of you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The old soldier’s voice is rough, and raw, and not only from the pain of his wounds. Blood trickles down his craggy face, eyes crinkled in a knowing, fatherly smile. The way he looks at me… My throat closes up, and it isn’t from my own injuries. I have no words. Here, at the end of everything, there’s nothing more to say, between the two of us, between the father I always wanted and the daughter he never had. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I take ahold of his hand. It’s huge, it wraps mine like a father’s hug, a calloused old paw for a calloused old bear, grizzled but with a softness that belies the strength within. There’s still strength in that grip, but the strength is fading. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Stay with me, Anderson. We’re almost through this…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He lets out a low groan. Those heavy shoulders relax, laying down their burden, the weight of an entire galaxy. I can feel his grip slackening. The warmth in his hands in slipping away, flowing into my own grasp. His last gift. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There’s a wetness on my face, and for once it isn’t blood. I’m a little girl, again, watching Earth disappear from the window of a commercial shuttle, taking me away. My own body is failing. I’m so tired, and in so much pain. I want Liara. I want Anderson. I don’t want to die here, alone. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m not alone. A shadow looms over. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I T  W I L L  B E  Y O U  A N D  I,  S H E P A R D,  A T  T H E  E N D. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A S  I T  A L W A Y S  H A S  B E E N. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> T H E  C Y C L E  C A N N O T  B E  B R O K E N.” </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>She clawed awake with a snarl, her heart a machine-gun staccato. The cabin’s darkness was suffocating, Blood pounded in her chest, in her temples, dripped from her nose even as icy tendrils gripped the back of her brain, as the low, dangerous swirl of biotic energy crackled and sizzled at her fingertips, in her eyes. Blurry images swirled in the haze of her vision, a fading impression of eyes, six glowing, arachnid eyes, eyes looming over, glaring down in terrible judgement, in condemnation of the weakness of organic life. She could <em> feel </em> the hatred boiling in that gaze, could feel the churning, coruscating blast of energy above them, to burn them all to cinder and ash, to finish what it had started eleven years ago.</p><p>Tendrils of energy churned around her, a pulsating bruise in the air, a titanic wellspring of dark matter. She pulled everything she had into a singular, focal point, her muscles a taut wire, her lips split into a grimace. If they wanted to take her family from her, she wasn’t going down without a fight. She curled her hands into fists, and-</p><p>“Sybilla!”</p><p>There were arms wrapping around her, strong arms sliding under her armpits, pressing cool, soothing hands to her cheek, to her neck. A calm voice, rippling with fear and unease underneath. She could feel the tension in the way those limbs trembled, even as they held her, even as they comforted her. Shepard let out a ragged breath, let her boiling corona of biotic fury subside, fall away from her. There was a gentle blue glow about her. She looked backward into liquid pools of moonlight, swimming in hurt and sorrow, and a fearful hand gripped her heart.</p><p>“B… Birdie?”</p><p>“I am here,” Liara whispered. Her face was tired, drawn. Her own mantle of biotic power slipped away, faded softly into the dark. In the subsiding afterimages she could see Aethyta and Benezia curled up behind their mother, staring at her with wide, wild eyes.</p><p>A strangled sob came unbidden from her mouth. “Oh, God…”</p><p>“I am here, my love,” shushed Liara, wrapping her tighter in her embrace. “We are all here, for you. We are all safe.”</p><p>Shepard closed her eyes, let herself fall backwards into the safety and security of that embrace. “I saw…”</p><p>“A dream,” her asari reassured her, pressing gentle kisses to her throbbing temple, running light fingers through sweat-sodden hair. She was soaked, and shivering, trembling like a leaf in a gale, as this reality came crashing down upon her. “It was only a dream, my love.”</p><p>“No,” she shook her head vehemently, eyes still squeezed shut. She clung to Liara like a drowning person clings to a life preserver, running through breathing and calming exercises in her mind to try to center herself, to try and slow her breathing, to try to steady her pulse. “No. Not just a dream. A warning.”</p><p>“Sybilla-”</p><p>She took a deep breath. "I can still feel its voice in my head, Birdie. I can still feel…" Her asari's embrace tightened, and she felt a cool, comforting forehead press against hers, a lightly pebbled touch that seemed to release endorphins on its own familiarity alone.</p><p>"It will be okay, my love," Liara whispered. "Come back to bed with us? Please?"</p><p>With a memetic gesture, Shepard activated her omni-tool. An icon flashed the time. She gave a tiny shake of her head.</p><p>"Need to be up soon, anyhow. You sleep." The kiss she pressed against Liara's forehead was filled with longing, with fatigue. She rolled over to the girls, still half-peering at her with concern.</p><p>"I'm fine," she assured. "Back to sleep for little berries."</p><p>"M'not a berry," Benezia protested with a yawn.</p><p>"You are," Shepard smiled. "Go back to sleep or I'll eat you for my breakfast." She bundled both of them back under the blankets and pressed a kiss to each scaly blue forehead before turning back to her bondmate, herself nestling back into the bed with tired eyes. She left a soft, chaste kiss on her upturned lips.</p><p>"Sleep. I'll be okay."</p><p>"Promise?"</p><p>A hand snaked out and stroked her cheek softly, with longing.</p><p>Shepard took her asari's hand and trailed light kisses across the back of her knuckles, along the inside of her wrist. "I promise."</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Thrumming bass and a pounding, staccato drum beat filled Shepard’s ears as she ran, thighs pumping like pistons as she forced her bruised body at a killing pace around the length of the shuttle bay, and then again, and then again. Sweat from her night terrors mingled with the good, honest sweat of her workout, blurring her vision, gluing her hair to her brow. When her lungs burned, it was from pulling in clipped breaths to the beat of the music, to the cadence of her own feet, not from barely-contained sobs. When her fists clenched, it was to will herself to another gear, not to defend herself from an imagined threat. When her eyes burned, it was from the sweat dripping from her forehead, not from her own tears.</p><p>It had been days and days since she’d seen The Eyes.</p><p>
  <em> It’s still out there. Until I see a body, it’s still out there. My gut was right all along. It always is. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I found Liara. I found the one… now I need to find the other. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Find the other and end this. </em>
</p><p>Her chest thumped like the track blaring in her ear, her veins pumped pure battery acid. The actuators in her hips and knees propelled her with a relentlessness that gave a lie to any serious thoughts of mortality, of humanity. She was part machine, now. Part weapon. No, she was <em> all </em> weapon.</p><p>A shadow fell into pace with her, two steps behind and a step to the right. She didn’t need to turn to know that it was T’Nere - only the big, lanky asari could keep pace with her for more than a lap or two, leastwhile when she had something she needed to run out, to process on a subconscious level while she focused on the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other. Her omni-tool flashed orange and she turned the volume on her music down, giving her Sergeant a nod by way of greeting.</p><p>“Morning, Skipper,” T’Nere returned the nod. “Echo’s suiting up for morning PT, they’re a few minutes behind. I have this morning’s duty roster to go over, and then Captain wants you and Doctor T’Soni on the bridge for when we reach the Caleston cluster.” The asari wrinkled her nose. “You don’t look like you slept. Don’t smell like it, either.”</p><p>“Thanks, sweetie, I love you too,” Shepard growled good-naturedly.</p><p>“Are we expecting trouble in Caleston? Ma’am?” T’Nere’s face was placid, but her shoulders were already tensed.</p><p>“I’m always expecting trouble, T’Nere. And if I can’t find any, I go make some.” Shepard snickered. “That might as well be a Spectre motto.” Her pace started to lag a little; a surge of energy to her limbs put her another step and a half ahead of her running partner.</p><p>“I’m not concerned about our reception with the Union, Skipper,” T’Nere grunted pointedly. “But some of ours have been Federation since the beginning. And your Spectre authority will only carry them so far.”</p><p>“Everyone will have to decide where they stand. I’m not going to hold a gun to anyone’s head. And besides,” Shepard panted slightly. She flicked beads of sweat from her brow with a forearm. “I plan on giving the Admirals what they want. They want me gone? They’ve got it.”</p><p>The asari stopped in her tracks, only breathing slightly hard. She planted her fists on her hips and gave the human a glower. “So. It’s true, then.”</p><p>Shepard let herself slow to a walk to cool down, her muscles and joints still singing with the pleasure of being pushed to their limits. She gave herself a few paces’ worth of time and space before circling back to her Sergeant. “I can’t do this forever, T’Nere. And the Federation is growing out of needing a Commander Shepard.”</p><p>“The Admirals might be, but… Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”</p><p>“Always,” Shepard nodded.</p><p>“Shepard, they might not want you stirring the pot back in Sol - but do you <em> really </em> think the Admirals are going to just let you walk away? Goddess, you’re a <em> legend </em> . The Federation is on crumbling ground as is, sounds like, and if you’re seen defecting to the Union…” The big asari shrugged. “They’ll come for you. They are <em> already </em> coming for you - you just dropped a wetworks squad and outflew a dreadnought, and that’s with them thinking you’re still on their side.”</p><p>“I’m not trading one empire for another,” Shepard sighed. “I’m not joining the Union, T’Nere. I’m getting Liara’s people somewhere safe, I’m getting <em> my </em> people somewhere safe while I figure out how to keep everyone out of the line of fire, and then I’m going to find somewhere where I can raise my daughters and fix the damage I’ve done to my marriage.”</p><p>T’Nere ran her hands over her crest. “I’m not saying I want you to get sucked back into all this, Shepard. I’m just saying they might not give you a choice.”</p><p>Shepard flashed her a bloodless smile. “They’re the ones that aren’t getting a choice. If they don’t let me walk away…” She shrugged, and there was a terrible finality to her posture and tone. “... then I’ll handle it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Spirits, ma’am,” Laedros complained, scouring her carapace under a stream of never-warm-enough water in the steam-swirled confines of the communal shower, “how do you do sprints around the shuttle bay for an hour and <em> then </em> PT us like that?”</p><p>“She’s N7, Laedros,” Doll guffawed, eyeing the hole where his ear used to be in a fogged-up mirror. “<em> Elite </em>. They build ‘em different. That’s pure, grade-A Alliance muscle, right there.”</p><p>“It must be because she is a Spectre,” Yija offered. The salarian stood under a stream of water with his mouth open, re-hydrating his parched pores. “If every human special forces operator was this capable, humanity would rule the galaxy.”</p><p>“Not the krogan,” Vokrax broke in. “The only thing that held us back were the damned turians and salarians. Uh, no offense.”</p><p>“We <em> do </em> have the biggest fleet,” Plunkett shrugged as he lathered his coppery hair. “And since the Crucible, Sol has sort of become the center of the galaxy. Sounds like we’re on top, to me.” The young human blanched at the gazes turned toward him, his face turning the same color as his hair. “What? I’m just saying.”</p><p>“Alright, everybody play nice,” Shepard broke in, a slight edge to her voice. Despite the cool water’s soothing effects on her sore muscles, she was already slightly regretting her decision to shower with the enlisteds. She knew she had to continue to maintain discipline and normalcy among the marines, but moderating their chatter came out harsher from their CO than their Sergeant. <em> And </em> , she thought with a slight grin, <em> if Liara is up already, we could work out even more of this tension… </em></p><p>“Seriously, Skipper,” Doll turned, his meaty arms folded across a dark, hairy chest. “You don’t think this is humanity’s time to shine?”</p><p>Shepard took a deep breath as she flicked the water through her hair. “I think it is, yeah,” she said quietly. “But when I think of where I’d like to see humanity on the galactic stage, it isn’t as a military leader.”</p><p>“But we can’t let them push us around,” Plunkett argued. “The Council-”</p><p>“Is that what you think ‘they’re’ doing, Will?” Shepard cocked her head. “We’re on a quarian ship with a turian navigator, your NCO is asari, and your squadmates are krogan, salarian, and batarian.”</p><p>“With a human leader,” Plunkett retorted. “We took everyone in, after the Crucible, after Earth took it the hardest during the Reaper War, and now they wanna-”</p><p>“Let me tell you something, Will,” Shepard cut in, not ungently. “I’ve seen a lot of this galaxy, and seen a lot of people - humans, asari, salarians, quarians, geth, turians, krogan, batarians, vorcha, hanar, volus, drell… Humanity doesn't have it as bad, collectively, as the suits would have you believe, and there are plenty who have it worse. Just because a few politicians got it into their heads that we were being marginalized by the Council, doesn’t make it true.”</p><p>“How can you say that?” Doll looked incredulous. “You’re the first human Spectre. I watched the vids of your inauguration. You helped put us at the forefront of the galactic community!”</p><p>“At the barrel of a gun.” Shepard sighed again. “Look. I'm a soldier. I made peace where I could, but my contribution to humanity on the galactic stage has been strictly a violent one. You want your legacy to be in blood spilled and lives taken, Omari? I don't."</p><p>“What <em> do </em> you want your legacy to be, ma’am? If you don’t mind me asking,” Sandekan queried.</p><p>Shepard was silent for a minute. “I’d like to be known for having brought people together” she said finally, “not for gunning them down.”</p><p>"Is that why you married an alien? Ma'am." Plunkett's eyes were clouded, frustrated. T'Nere took a step forward, seething, but Shepard put a cautioning hand on her shoulder. She flashed her Sergeant a look before turning back to the young human.</p><p>"We're <em> all </em> aliens, Will," she reminded him. "Just a matter of perspective. And I didn't bond with Liara because she's an alien. I bonded with her because she's compassionate, and adventurous, and intelligent, and strong. Because she makes me smile, makes me laugh, makes me feel safe. Because she tells me the truth when I don't want to hear it, and picks me up when I fall. I bonded with her because I love her, Will. It's as simple as that."</p><p>“Commander Shepard, the romantic,” the dour batarian grunted. “Not a trait often associated with the Red Wind of Illyria.”</p><p>Shepard closed her eyes for a moment, her head down under the stream of water, before tugging at the faucet chain. “No,” she muttered, “it isn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thrusters, check. Navigation, check. Internal emissions sink engaged. Drift, ten thousand K.”</p><p>“Good work, Helm.” Captain Soru’Nal patted the officer affectionately on the shoulder as she passed, eyes fixed on the swirling blue-white nebula surrounding them as the streaking stars slowed to a crawl and the gentle pulling of the deck beneath her feet subsided. “Navigator? How’s our course?”</p><p>The turian’s clawed hands swiped at one haptic screen after another, clacking his mandibles in frustration. “Complicated, Captain. The most current navigational data I have of any FTL routes between the relay and Arvuna are… well, ma’am, they’re a decade old. And there are no comm-buoys, no current telemetry data.”</p><p>“We can’t just crawl there on impulse drive,” Helmsman Hel’Lifin argued. “We’d be out here for months.”</p><p>“If I try to blind-hop us there I could put us through a debris field, or an anomaly,” the turian snapped back. “That would shorten our trip, permanently.”</p><p>“If I may, Captain?”</p><p>The presence of the soft voice nearly made Soru start. Nearly. Clicking her tongue in irritation, she turned to find Doctor T’Soni, having somehow snuck up behind her. <em> Her and that bondmate of hers. Woven from the same cloth, </em> she thought with some irritation.</p><p>“Doctor. Will Shepard be joining us shortly?”</p><p>A shake of her head indicated a negative. “No, Captain. She was down in the main battery with your Chief Engineer, Shaanne'Naal? And then I believe she had mentioned something about seeing to her marine detail’s readiness.” She paused. “In any event, I believe I can be of more use, with our current predicament.”</p><p>“Are you a navigator, as well as a xenoarchaeologist and politician?” Taliid grunted.</p><p>Another shake of her head. “No, Chief Navigator. But I have the telemetry data to guide us to Arvuna.”</p><p>Soru blinked rapidly behind her faceplate. “How would you..?”</p><p>The doctor arched an eyebrow. </p><p><em> I’ve never seen an asari with eyebrows, </em> the quarian thought incongruously. “Of course you do,” she muttered grudgingly. “I suppose the mother of the Union would have to know how to find her way home.”</p><p>The asari smiled. “Something like that.” In lieu of asking for further permission she bent over Taliid’s interface and began to input commands with a surprisingly practiced ease, murmuring something under her breath, too low to hear, brow furrowed in concentration. “This path should take us through a safe shoal, through the Solveig system, sling-shotting around Surtur’s gravitational field, and allowing us to drift to the Aysur system along this current, to Dranen. I anticipate we will be intercepted somewhere here, rimward of the Aysur system, and that those Unionist vessels will escort us the rest of the way.”</p><p>“The Union has scanners capable of picking us up?” Hel’Lifin sounded incredulous.</p><p>“Probably not,” Liara admitted, “but the Unionist intelligence network was extensive, and I have no reason to imagine it is not still active. If the Federation is monitoring relay traffic, the Union will know this vessel exited the Balor relay and will be on the lookout for vessels approaching by this vector.”</p><p>Soru folded her arms. “How happy are they going to be to see us? Even with you present, Doctor T’Soni?”</p><p>“I have access codes that they will, at the very least, have to acknowledge,” Liara answered smoothly. “And even if my name is no longer one that opens doors, we have a bargaining chip that not even the most staunchly anti-Federation Unionist will turn down.” The asari’s smile was mild, but there was iron in her eyes. “The Union has been seeking legitimacy within the Federation for years, but the Federation has been able to simply ignore them. We have someone the Federation cannot afford to simply ignore.”</p><p>Soru groaned. “You’re talking about Shepard.”</p><p> </p><p>Shepard could feel dice clacking around in her head as the deck of the shuttle bay shifted ever so slightly beneath her feet, as retro-thrusters and compensators kicked into gear to assist the Moreh’s cruciform-shaped bulk descend the upper atmosphere of Dranen’s largest moon. Her shoulders felt mercifully light; the good fatigue of her second workout holding firm over the effects of lack of sleep and the stress of her injuries to her still-battered frame. The weight of a heavy pistol on one hip was a reassurance, Liara’s grip in her hand was another. A quick glance at the armed and armored members of Echo at her back made her wish for her hardsuit, but she had been insistent that the Union would definitely, unmistakably see her as a threat if she greeted them looking like an invader. Liara, predictably, had not approved, and her bondmate’s silence as they made their descent was telling. It was another sin she’d have to atone for, later, when they had extricated themselves from this entire mess.</p><p>Aethyta and Benezia very nearly bounced with excitement, and Shepard couldn’t help herself but muss their still-flexible scalp crests with a rueful grin. “Are we going swimming when we land, then, little tadpoles?”</p><p>“I’m not a tadpole,” Benezia stated haughtily. “I’m a kraken!”</p><p>“Maybe one day,” Shepard laughed, scooping up her daughter and swinging her, her giggles filling the shuttle bay. “But you’re just a tadpole right now. Even I couldn’t do this to a kraken!”</p><p>“Do tadpoles grow into krakens?” Aethyta mused.</p><p>“I believe tadpoles grow into amphibians.” Liara’s voice was measured, but Shepard could see the cracks of a smile forming on her pursed purple lips. “I do not know what you would call an infant cephalopod.”</p><p>“Squidlet?” Shepard teased, hefting the little asari on her hip as Benezia made a face. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Liara cover her mouth with her hand. “Squidling? Sounds tasty. What do you think, love - should we have squidlings for dinner?”</p><p>“Sybilla,” Liara admonished, straining to maintain a neutral face.</p><p>“You’re right,” Shepard agreed. “I’m hungry now.” She mimed biting at the little asari’s crests as she giggled and kicked.</p><p>“We’re both krakens and we’ll eat you first!” Aethyta declared, flinging herself at her father’s legs. Shepard made a show of staggering back a step before grabbing Aethyta up in her other arm, growling at the two of them. </p><p>“Too bad for you, squidlets - there’s only one tentacle creature <em> this </em> kraken-hunter fears. Isn’t that right, Bluebird?”</p><p>Liara pressed her lips together. “Not funny,” she murmured, though her eyes told a different tale.</p><p>**Escorts departing,** the shipboard communicator interrupted with Hel’lifin’s slightly nervous stammer. **ETA, seventeen minutes to planetfall.**</p><p>The Union had, predictably, not been entirely pleased to see them. A pair of sleek ex-Alliance frigates, re-painted with sunbursts, had dropped out of FTL nearly on top of them, and it had been a testament to the quarian helmsman’s skill that they hadn’t started an incident before they’d even arrived in the Aysur system. It had been a stroke of luck that one of the frigates had been the Chicago, and once the shock of seeing Shepard again had worn off, Captain Pennix had vouched for her. The remainder of the journey had still been fairly tense - particularly with both frigates’ weapon systems trained on the Moreh the entire flight time.</p><p>Shepard pressed a quick kiss on Aethyta and Benezia’s foreheads and set them down gently. “Alright, little krakens, daddy has to go to work.” She took a knee, looking both of them in the eye, her face serious. “I need you two to be my eyes, while we’re here. Okay? I want you to watch everyone. Who’s following us, who isn’t, who’s watching us.”</p><p>“Like spies?” Aethyra’s eyes were as wide as saucers, practically trembling with excitement.</p><p>“Like spies,” Shepard agreed. She put a finger to her lip. “But anything you find out, you can only tell me, your mother, or Sergeant T’Nere. Understand?”</p><p>Both asari snapped childish approximations of salutes. “We won’t let you down, Commander Shepard,” Benezia whispered.</p><p>Shepard grinned and kissed them both again. “I know you won’t.” She stood up, catching Liara’s eyes and seeing in them a mixture of exasperation and adoration. She crooked an eyebrow. “What?”</p><p>“Spies, Sybilla?”</p><p>Still grinning, she leaned over and nuzzled the side of her bondmate’s head. “Children see and hear things that others often don’t. And besides…” Her voice dropped. “Their mother is the most feared and respected intelligence broker in the galaxy. I’ll wager they take to it like… what did you say, earlier? ‘Like a <em> kiayze </em>in a slipstream?’”</p><p>Liara rolled her eyes, shifting her weight just enough so that Shepard had to lean in an inch or two closer. “You do not even know what a <em> kiayze </em>is.”</p><p>“Maybe not,” the Spectre admitted, snaking forward to steal a quick kiss, “But I bet they take to slipstreams pretty quickly.”</p><p>“They do.” Liara’s smile was hesitant. “I do not like this, Sybilla.”</p><p>“Me either.” She found Liara’s hands and took them in her own, resting her forehead against her asari’s. “We both agreed it was the smart play.”</p><p>“It is,” Liara nodded. “But that does not mean I have to like it. There are too many variables at play. And… Kaidan is not as you remember him. Age has embittered him.”</p><p>Shepard couldn’t resist. “Kaidan’s only a few years older than me, Blue. Are you calling <em> me </em> old?”</p><p>“Sybilla, this is serious,” Liara bit back dryly, but retained a slight smirk. “And that question is hardly fair. Humans and asari age much differently. My one hundred and twenty-one years are greater than your fourty-four, but comparatively represent much less of my lifespan than your age does.”</p><p>Shepard glanced down at their daughters, stone-faced. “Your mother just called me ‘old.’”</p><p>Liara rolled her eyes again. “We are landing soon. I only wonder what our reception will be.”</p><p>Shepard smiled, but it no longer reached her eyes. She kept her voice low, low enough so only Liara heard. “Echo and I go first. You don’t come out until my say-so. The refugees, either. Anything happens, Leel’Xaanis is in the Kodiak. You take the girls and go. Understood?”</p><p>“Sybilla…”</p><p>“Don’t argue with me.”</p><p>“I am not leaving you behind again,” she hissed.</p><p>“For them?” Shepard jerked her head towards Aethyta and Benezia. “You will.”</p><p>Liara opened her mouth to argue, but closed it abruptly at the look in Sybilla’s eyes. These were not the soft, curious eyes of her bondmate, warm and longing and comforting and piercing in their love for her, in their need for her. These were the eyes of a hunting cat, the eyes of a hungry wolf. Sybilla had her killer’s eyes. The asari gulped and gave a shallow nod.</p><p> </p><p>Two squads of marines in Union sunbursts awaited them in the brilliant Arvuna sun.</p><p>The Moreh touched down with a shudder and a jolt amidst the smell of starship fuel and scorched iron. The air was crisp and cool and tasted of spray and salt water, and mingling with the hissing of pressure-cables and refuelling-pumps was the slow, steady crashing of waves in the distance. Piercing, scorching light, lessened only slightly by radiation-shields and specially-erected shade-barriers, reminded Shepard of Haestrom; of a burning world with a dying sun, of hellish heat and the chattering of small-arms fire. Her augmented vision corrected the glare even before her own fighter’s instincts turned her gaze away. A calloused hand ran lightly over the pistol at her hip. She glanced backwards at Liara and the children, at the Moreh officers safely within the belly of the shuttle bay, at the squad of armored Federation marines at her back. She could still feel dice clattering about in her head.</p><p>Red dots patterned her white blouse as she stepped out of the bay and down the lowered ramp, footfalls echoing oddly in the tension. Feigning a casualness she didn’t feel even remotely, she slung her light jacket over one shoulder and drew her face into a lopsided grin, striding confidently towards the marines. Low, domed ferrocrete buildings dotted the windswept crescent island the landing pad sat upon. Her augmented vision spotted a fair amount of movement among them; more soldiers, more crew, waiting in reserve to see what happened. She took three steps onto the scorched concrete of the landing-pad before one of the Union soldiers detatched from the group.</p><p>“That’s far enough.”</p><p>She was slight, tanned, dark-haired, and looked confident and capable. Her hand, like Shepard’s, wasn’t exactly on her sidearm, but wasn’t far away. The other soldiers had their weapons trained on the Spectre, but looked nervous. She didn’t. Shepard noted the silver bar on her collar and three stripes on her sleeve.</p><p>“Congratulations on the promotion, Lieutenant Westmoreland,” she said dryly. “You remember where you’re at, soldier?”</p><p>“Shit. It really is you.” Lieutenant Westmoreland colored slightly. “Asa, landing pad four, south gate. I didn’t think you’d remember, ma’am.”</p><p>“How could I forget?” Shepard kept her expression light, her posture nonthreatening. “You got Campbell and I lost for four hours because you couldn’t read a compass without VI assistance.”</p><p>“Sarah’s a Lieutenant Commander, now,” Westmoreland cracked a smile. “She never lets me forget it either. Ma’am… even under the circumstances, it’s damned good to see you.”</p><p>“Even under the circumstances, it’s damned good to see you too,” Shepard replied, and meant it. “I assume you’re here to escort me to your superiors?”</p><p>“Yes ma’am.” Westmoreland took a few cautious steps forward. “You, your Captain, and Doctor T’Soni.”</p><p>“Mhmm.” The Spectre cocked an eyebrow. “And the two dozen Supay refugees we have aboard?”</p><p>“Will be taken care of,” the Lieutenant replied smoothly, “once you speak with the Assembly.”</p><p>Shepard considered this for a moment. “I’ll speak to the Assembly,” she acknowledged. “Alone. My crew will stay on the Moreh until suitable terms have been reached.”</p><p>Westmoreland frowned. “That isn’t-”</p><p>“That’s the best you’re going to get, Lieutenant,” Shepard folded her arms. “I’m not marching a single soul off that ramp with a score of marines and… two? Two sniper teams?” She peered back toward the buildings behind the Union soldiers. “My bondmate and children are aboard, Westmoreland. If you think I’m going to let you point weapons in their faces, you’ve forgotten who it is you’re speaking to.”</p><p>The Lieutenant stuck out her jaw, resolutely. “We had to take precautions, ma’am.”</p><p>“And I’m taking precautions, as well.”</p><p>Westmoreland’s face darkened. “I have half a platoon behind me, and hundreds more a call away. I could order them to come and get you.”</p><p>“You could.” Shepard’s face and tone didn’t change, but she could feel her eyes hardening, could feel the killer’s gaze rising from within her, like a second set of eyelids. Westmoreland saw it, too, took a half-step back. “You’d be signing a lot of death warrants. Yours included.”</p><p>Lieutenant Westmoreland chewed her bottom lip as she weighed her options, and Shepard felt almost bad for the young officer, caught in a situation not in her control in the slightest. She’d always liked Bethany; she and Sarah had been good soldiers and good people. She didn’t want to have to kill her.</p><p>“What do you want to do, Lieutenant?” one of the marines hissed.</p><p>Shepard stood stock-still, the heat from Arvuna’s sun barely registering, the slightly increased gravity negligible. Her body was tired, her mind was tired, but she was N7, a Spectre, and if these marines wanted a show, she was going to give them one. “I can stand here for ninety-six hours before I need to shake it off,” she advised the increasingly flustered former Alliance war-room guard. “You take all the time you need, Bethany.”</p><p>That finally broke her. Giving Shepard a sulky look, Westmoreland turned away and tapped a comm-bead. “HQ, this is Westmoreland. Shepard’s coming in.” A pause. “Yes, sir, just Shepard.” Another pause. “I understand, sir, but she-” A longer, terse pause. “Yes, sir. Understood. Westmoreland out.” The Lieutenant’s shoulders slumped. “You’ll have to surrender your weapons.”</p><p>“I agree to those terms.” Making sure her hand was well in-view of the marines, she slowly unholstered her sidearm and held it outward, handle-first. At Westmoreland’s urging, the marine who had spoken up earlier nervously edged forward. He didn’t even look to be Will Plunkett’s age. Shepard smiled sadly. “I’m not going to bite you, son.” </p><p>He took the pistol, but as he turned to hand it over to Westmoreland, Shepard couldn’t resist showing off a little. </p><p>She cleared her throat. “You want my backup, too?”</p><p>The soldier looked back at an exasperated Lieutenant before nodding, and the Spectre obliged, pulling a smaller, concealed pistol from the sleeve of the jacket slung over her shoulder and held it outward. As soon as he’d taken it, she produced a long-bladed combat knife with a flourish and a saucy grin and handed that over, as well.</p><p>“You can pat me down, if you ask nicely.” She winked. The marine turned as red as an N7 stripe. Satisfied, Shepard tapped her own comm-bead, attuned to Liara’s signal. **Hey, Birdie, it’s me. I’m going in, alone. Nobody in or out of the Moreh.**</p><p>**Sybilla…** Liara spoke in a low, tight voice. **Be careful.**</p><p>**I promise.** Not waiting to push her luck with further invitation, she strode brassily through the ranks of the watching marines, letting them fall into pace at her back. On an impulse, she started to hum softly.</p><p> </p><p>The triple-reinforced shield-doors of Asa’s military base closed with an ominous forboding, and the platform Shepard and the score of marines trailing her began to descend into the bowels of the moon. Out of the scorching sunlight, the temperature began to drop immediately, and Shepard soon shrugged into the cropped leather jacket she’d slung over her shoulders. It had reminded her a little of Aria T’Loak, though in Shepard’s opinion, the asari wore it better.</p><p>“I understand Asa was largely untouched by the War,” she murmured as the elevator rumbled downwards. “All this looks remarkably intact.”</p><p>“Radiation shields,” Westmoreland nodded. “Like the ones on Palaven. A few of the members of the Assembly were colony statesmen, pre-War. They claim the Reapers couldn’t find them, down here.” She snorted. “I think there were just too few lifeforms to bother, while they were focusing on the worlds still putting up a fight.”</p><p>“What kind of population?”</p><p>“Just over a hundred K.”</p><p>Shepard let out a low whistle. “Can’t be easy, feeding that many mouths.”</p><p>Westmoreland glanced at her sharply. “Kelp farms, and a lot of fish. We get by.” There was a pause. “I can’t imagine Earth is having an easier time. Whatever’s left, anyways.”</p><p>Shepard nodded. “There’s scarcity. Rations, food lines. We didn’t have access to agri-worlds for the first two years, and even with how bad Earth was hit, things were tight. With every fleet in the galaxy all in one place? Lot of mouths to feed. Not enough eezo, not enough medicine. Not enough anything.”</p><p>“Enough to send warships into the Traverse to take what you need,” the Lieutenant snapped.</p><p>“When all your politicians are soldiers, there’s always enough for another war,” Shepard shrugged sadly. “That’s not why I’m here, Bethany.”</p><p>“That’s above my paygrade, ma’am.” Westmoreland wouldn’t make eye contact with her. The elevator rumbled to a halt.</p><p>“That’s a shame,” Shepard said sadly.</p><p>They marched through slate-grey corridors of what had obviously once been an Alliance military facility for several more minutes in silence. Shepard saw soldiers, civilians, scientists, even children… but with growing disquiet, she realized that everyone she saw was human. Not a single other Council species in sight. She rationalized that Asa had been a predominantly human colony even before the War, that both humans and the volus had been competing for resources in this cluster, that ethno-colonies weren’t all that uncommon before the Reapers necessitated a more communal galaxy. It didn’t help. It just made it seem even more strange.</p><p>The people of Asa, for their part, gawked and whispered as the Spectre passed. She heard more than a few mutters of “Shepard,” and roughly as many people whispering “Savior” as there were angrily muttering “Traitor.” <em> About as well as I deserve, </em> she thought. <em> Maybe better than I deserve. </em></p><p>At last they pushed past a set of well-guarded double-doors and the saluting soldiers in front of them, and entered a large, well-lit auditorium. All concrete and brushed steel and brutalist decor, it resembled a corporate boardroom more than the seat of power for a small galactic nation, despite the severity of the nine faces that stared back at Shepard, some in disbelief, some in open hostility. A bearded, middle-aged man rose abruptly. Beneath the weathered worry-lines, she could still see the soft brown eyes, the boyish half-smile.</p><p>"Let the record show that the Federation representative is present before the Assembly of the Attican Union," he said in a tone pitched to carry. "This is General Alenko, presiding. Present for the Assembly is Major Vega, Admiral Qing, Councillor Tendai, Councillor Pia, Minister Yannick, Councillor Liesbeth, Councillor Davis, Doctor Noemi." He indicated to Shepard with an outstretched hand. "Please state your name and rank for the record."</p><p>Shepard folded her arms. "Agent Shepard, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance, Citadel Council."</p><p>A few surprised murmurs.</p><p>"Are you not here as a representative of the Federated Galactic Republic?” A matronly woman with teak-dark skin interjected.</p><p>“I am not.” Shepard kept her tone even, and maintained a parade rest stance. <em> If they want to put on a show, that’s what they’ll get </em>. “I hold no military or political rank within the Federation. My business here is as Council Spectre.”</p><p>“The Citadel Council no longer exists,” a bald, bearded man in religious regalia argued.</p><p>“And yet, here I am,” she said brightly, clasping her hands together.</p><p>“Spectre authority derives from Council mandate,” Kaidan frowned.</p><p>“Spectre authority derives from the barrel of a gun,” Shepard retorted. “Short-lived as your tenure was, I’d have thought you might have picked up on that one, K.”</p><p>“Good thing Lieutenant Westmoreland took your gun, then, huh Lola?” James Vega’s smooth baritone slid in. He offered a measured smile.</p><p>Shepard cocked an eyebrow. “Did she?”</p><p>Alarmed murmurs.</p><p>“Lieutenant?”</p><p>The Assembly chambers were suddenly filled with the sounds of rifles snapping to activation, with surprised grunts from nervous soldiers with itchy trigger fingers, with the clatter of chairs as civilians scrambled to take a hurried step backwards. Westmoreland spluttered indignantly behind her. “She surrendered two pistols and a knife to- Hakon, did you search her?”</p><p>Shepard’s eyes never left Kaidan’s. Her lips were still curled in a smile, but she could tell from the reactions of the Councillors that her killer’s eyes were up. Neural enhancements, training, and a wealth of experience were already running pattern analysis through her mind; attack angles, the best places to find cover, who would fight and who would flee and who would freeze. She let them all simmer for a heartbeat or two.</p><p>“Your man took my tools, Bethany, but perhaps you’ve all forgotten. I’m N7. I’m a Spectre. I’m a biotic. If I’m in a <em> room </em> with a gun, I’m armed. But more than that? I <em> am </em> the weapon.” She half-rolled both shoulders, idly. “And I don’t scare. So if we’re quite finished with this little demonstration? I believe we have more important matters to discuss.”</p><p>Cheeks flushed with ire, Kaidan trembled with rage for a moment before motioning for the soldiers to lower their weapons. </p><p>“That will be all, Lieutenant.”</p><p>Westmoreland gasped. “But, sir-”</p><p>“<em> That will be all, Lieutenant </em>,” Kaidan repeated. Shepard could feel Bethany’s frustration and reluctance to leave, and felt a moment’s regret for the young woman. There was a long pause before she could hear the rustle of fabric and the rattle of de-activated rifles as the marine detail saluted and left the Assembly.</p><p>“What’s your angle here, Shepard?” Kaidan all but snarled, as soon as the marines had left.</p><p><em> Shepard, huh? Not Billie? </em> She thought, with a tinge of sadness. <em> So much for the reunion </em>.</p><p>“I have about two dozen colonists from Supay aboard, displaced by a pirate raid. They need somewhere safe to start re-building their lives. Liara suggested this would be a good place to start, at least.”</p><p>A few of the Councillors exchanged glances. “You’re holding our people hostage?” A heavyset younger man in an immaculate business suit asked.</p><p>“Not even remotely,” Shepard frowned. “Their colony was under attack. I intervened. They needed a place to go.”</p><p>A slim, dark-haired woman returned her frown. “And in exchange for their safe return?” </p><p>“I’d hoped for a berth to re-supply and re-group,” Shepard spread her hands. “Safe passage for the crew of the Moreh. They’re in a somewhat… complicated… situation currently, as a result of my actions.”</p><p>“So you seek asylum, for yourself and your crew,” a statuesque, silver-haired woman said flatly.</p><p>“Call it safe passage. I can’t and won’t speak for Captain Soru’Nal, or the Moreh crew, as to their desires to return to the Federation or not.”</p><p>“And yourself?” Vega rumbled. “Will <em> you </em> be returning to the Federation?”</p><p>“I’d planned on retiring, actually.” If Shepard’s grin had been wolfish before, it was positively feral now. “I may have business with the Admiralty Board before that. A minor matter of a salarian wetworks team and an Alliance dreadnought.” She cocked her head. “I <em> hope </em> you hadn’t planned on using me as leverage with the Federation. I don’t think they want me back.”</p><p>“You have given us a lot to consider,” the bald, bearded man spoke in dulcet tones. “Will you permit us time to come to a consensus?”</p><p>“Naturally.” Shepard nodded. “The safe conduct of your people is, of course, not contingent on anything. They will be released immediately, assuming you have the resources and facilities to safely house and feed them?”</p><p>“This is,” the matronly woman grudgingly spoke, “much more agreeable than we - than <em> I </em> believed the Federation was capable of being, Agent Shepard.”</p><p>“I don’t work for the Federation, Councillor,” Shepard reminded her. “I serve the Citadel Council.”</p><p>“The Council was disbanded, Shepard,” Kaidan spat.</p><p>Shepard glanced at him coolly. “And yet, here I am.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“When will dad be back?”</p><p>Liara felt a smile growing across her cheeks as she studied the serious-faced asari child in her lap. The tension and uncertainty in the air aboard the Moreh was thick. Most of the officers had returned to their daily duties, as much to maintain a semblance of normalcy as any real need. Sybilla's marine detail remained in the shuttle bay, holding a silent standoff with the Union marines just outside the landing ramp. A single marine remained just outside the quarters Liara, Sybilla and the girls shared, at Saith T'Nere's insistence. Liara found herself comforted by the big, capable asari's commitment to their safety. </p><p>Benezia, thank the Goddess, had gone back to the book Sybilla had lent her, and was fully engrossed. Aethyta, however, had alternated between a moody silence and a barrage of questions.</p><p>“‘Dad’? Is she no longer ‘father’ already?” she asked, amused.</p><p>“She said ‘father’ made her sound old,” Aethyta shrugged. “Or ‘like a rich society type.’ I do not know what that means.”</p><p>“We might have been,” Liara laughed lightly. “The House of T’Soni is an ancient and honored line, in Armali, on Thessia where I grew up.”</p><p>“Can we go to Thessia?” Benezia asked, without looking up from her book.</p><p>“One day I hope so, my loves,” Liara said sadly. “It is not safe, right now. But your father and I have been speaking of where we might go next. She, too, dearly loves Thessia. So, perhaps, one day.”</p><p>“I want to go soon,” Aethyta declared. “Dad showed me Serrice. She said she always wanted to climb the Seyxethea mountains. Have you ever climbed a mountain, mother?”</p><p>“On Palaven, when I was young.” The maiden smiled. “My mother took me. I thought the mountains there would go on forever.”</p><p>“Can we go to Palaven?” Benezia asked.</p><p>Liara sighed. “Maybe one day, Little Bird. Maybe one day.” She reached out and brushed her child’s crest, her heart swelling with pride and with sadness.</p><p>“When is dad coming back?” Aethyta asked again. “I want to go swimming.”</p><p>“She’ll be back soon.” She pressed a kiss to her impatient daughter’s head. “There are some people she has to talk to before we can leave the ship.”</p><p>“Uncle Kaidan and Uncle James?” Aethyta’s eyes lit up.</p><p>“Yes, Little Bird,” Liara smiled and gave her another kiss. “And Aunt Karin, and Uncle Jeff, and EDI…”</p><p>“And Uncle Garrus and Aunt Tali?” Benezia put her book down and looked up at her, bouncing in anticipation. “Will Uncle Garrus and Aunt Tali be here?”</p><p>“No, my love,” Liara shook her head. “Garrus and Tali went home, to Rannoch.”</p><p>“Can we go to Rannoch?”</p><p>Liara laughed. “Sybilla - your father and I have been discussing it. We would like to be closer to Uncle Garrus and Aunt Tali.” She lowered her voice, leaning in closer, as if to confide a secret in them. “I suspect they might have children of their own, by now, and they might even be near to your age.”</p><p>"Mother, why haven't we come to visit sooner?" Aethyta tugged her arm.</p><p>Liara was silent for a time. "That's… complicated, Little Bird," she murmured.</p><p>The little asari wrinkled her nose. "<em> Everything </em> is complicated."</p><p>Her mother couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, it is, my love. Yes, it is."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “So you’re really leaving.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She didn’t pause from stuffing her meagre personal belongings into her bag to look up, barely bothered to fold the jumpsuits and compression garments that had nearly become her entire wardrobe. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yes, I am really leaving, Karin.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The human doctor sighed and took a seat at the edge of the bed. It was still dark, pre-dawn, and the thin orange glow of Liara’s omni-tool threw the dark circles under both womens’ eyes in stark contrast to the paleness of their faces. Karin ran a frustrated hand through her close-cropped silver bob. </em>
</p><p><em> “I know you are discouraged by the decisions the Assembly have been making, Liara, but how can you expect to mend-” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> “Mend? These things cannot be mended, Karin,” the asari bit back, regretting her tone instantly. She sighed. “I am sorry. I cannot act as the Assembly’s conscience any further. Not when they continue to ignore me and go behind my back.” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Kaidan is only doing what he thinks is best.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Kaidan is only doing what he thinks Sybilla would do.” Her hands balled into fists. “But he remembers her only as a fighter. Not as a compromiser, or a diplomat. She is more than a soldier, Karin. She deserves to be remembered as more than just a soldier. And that is all Kaidan and James see, when they look upon the Normandy memorial.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I didn’t say I agreed with him,” Karin arched an eyebrow. “And I certainly do not condone the allies he is drawing. But you cannot say that every decision he has made has been the wrong one. We’ve secured our borders from Reaper remnants, from pirates… and this Federation that has sprung up, in mockery of the Alliance and the Council… we will need to protect ourselves, Liara.” She folded her arms. “Even the asari Republics had commandos, had a military.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And look what good it did us!” Liara hissed. “I am tired of this, Karin. I am tired of war, of fighting. I am tired of seeing ones I love and care about come home bloodied and bandaged, if they come home at all. I am tired of losing-” her throat caught, and the room blurred around her as tears brimmed in her eyes. She slumped down, defeatedly, head low. “I am so tired of losing people to this war, Karin. It has taken and taken and taken. Is this how my life is to be? Am I to spend the next nine hundred years watching everything I love die?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The tears were flowing freely, now, dripping down her cheeks to patter in her lap. “Did Sybilla sacrifice everything only for us to die off, slowly, bickering over a pile of rubble until there are none left?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, my dear girl,” Karin whispered, and her arms were around Liara in an instant. The maiden let herself sink into her friend’s embrace and just weep, let the tears come that she had been hiding for so long; from her daughters, from her friends, from the people she had been empowered to represent. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Where will you go?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Away,” Liara sniffled. “To one of the smaller colonies. Somewhere very far away, to raise my daughters in peace and happiness.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Shepard ran her fingers reverently along the raised lettering of the memorial.</p><p>After her meeting with the Assembly, she’d been freed to wander the corridors of Asa’s military complex, a pair of marines tailing her from a respectful distance. They hadn’t bothered her. Nobody had bothered her. Anyone that had come across her had given her a wide berth, glancing at her with a mixture of fear and awe. It reminded her of her infrequent visits to Earth, after the Crucible. She hated it.</p><p>And so she had wandered aimlessly, stewing in the frustration of Kaidan and James’ indifference towards her, until she’d come across what appeared to be a small chapel. The chapel itself hadn’t interested her, but the memorial wall out front of it…</p><p>They’d retained the Alliance star, faded and scratched paint and all. A part of her was pleased to see no gaudy ornamentation, no gilt lettering or statue to honor the glorious dead. Just a wall, with a number of plaques on it, in solemn acknowledgement of those who had sacrificed so much, for so many. The words ‘Ad Astra Per Aspera,’ seared into her forearm, burned into her memory, never failed to bring a surge of emotion to the Spectre, even before each name hit her in the gut like a low blow.</p><p>
  <em> Grenado, the fiery, foul-mouthed weapons officer who could peel paint at twenty paces. Rahman, her omni-tool filled with pictures of her six children. Chase and Waaberi, bickering like an old married couple. The Draven twins, Rosamund and Talitha. Pressley, her Navigator, who she’d served with on her very first commissioned posting, the Agincourt. Jenkins, the first soldier she’d ever lost under her command. Bakari. Barrett. Crosby. Dubyanski. Emerson. Felawa. Gladstone. Greico. Laflamme. Lowe. Negulesco. Pakti. Tanaka. Tucks. </em>
</p><p>Her hand hovered over one of the last plaques. <em> Williams </em>.</p><p>“Hey, Ash,” she croaked. “Long time no see.”</p><p>She patted the plaque affectionately. “Did I ever tell you I made sure your sisters made it off Sirona? Yeah. We wrote back and forth, a little, after… Sarah’s husband was killed in action in the war, though you probably know that. She’s strong, Ash. Like you. She’ll be okay. Abby and Lynn were doing alright, too. Or… they were. It’s been a few years. I haven’t been the best at keeping in touch. With anybody.”</p><p>A single tear dripped down her cheek, then another. She brushed them away with a thumb. “I know, look at me. Maybe I was the bigger softie between the two of us after all, huh?” The Spectre let out a short laugh. </p><p>“I miss you, Ash. You rest easy, yeah?” She patted the plaque again. “You earned it. We’ve got the work, from here.”</p><p>She drew herself up to attention, stiff-backed, straight-shouldered, her jaw thrust forward, and snapped a hand up in salute.</p><p>“Who’s like us?” Shepard whispered in a hollow voice.</p><p>“Damn few,” came a smooth rumble from behind her. “And they’re all dead.”</p><p>Shepard didn’t turn. “Major Vega,” she said coolly. “Hope that wasn’t you trying to be stealthy. I saw you before you woke up this morning.”</p><p>James sucked his teeth. “Nothing gets past you, huh Lola.”</p><p>She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, is it ‘Lola’ now? Not ‘Agent Shepard,’ not ‘the Federation representative?’”</p><p>“Come on now, Lola,” the big marine sighed. “You showing up like this puts us in a spot, you know that. Kaidan has to do things officially, by the book. You know that was always his thing, even before all this.”</p><p>“I didn’t expect bells and whistles. I just hoped for a little more than the cold shoulder, after eleven years.” Now she turned, trying and failing to conceal the fury on her face, the hurt. “I searched for you, all of you. I’ve spent those years, searching. You were my crew, my brothers, my <em> family </em>.”</p><p>“And you sent us away,” James snapped. “I would have followed you anywhere, Lola. So would Kaidan, so would Garrus. We were all ready to lay it all down, to get you to that damn beam. And you told us to run! You know how hard it was to look at myself in the mirror, after? How hard it <em> still </em> is, to know my commanding officer left me behind? Didn’t think I could keep up, when it mattered? Didn’t trust me?”</p><p>“I trusted you, trusted <em> all </em> of you, with <em> Liara </em> ,” Shepard hissed. “Not because I didn’t think you’d die for me, because I knew you would. Because I knew you all would, and I couldn’t watch you get torn to pieces by Harbinger to buy me five more feet of space to run.” She stabbed a finger into his chest, watched him flinch and take a step back at the force. “I sent you away to <em> save your goddamn lives, </em> because I didn’t think I was coming out of that beam, and I wanted to make sure that if we were all going to die that day, that I saved the handful of people I cared about the most.”</p><p>She leaned in, until their noses nearly touched, her eyes boiling with fury and her breast heaving. “I dream about that day every goddamn night, Vega. I dream about Harbinger tearing Hammer to pieces, about the soldiers I watched get cut down like blades of grass under a <em> fucking </em> lawnmower. I watch them get turned to dust and smoke, <em> every night </em>, knowing I can’t save them, knowing they died because of me. Sometimes they have their own faces. Sometimes it’s yours. Sometimes it’s Kaidan’s. Sometimes it’s Garrus and Tali. Sometimes it’s Liara. But they all die, every night, over and over and over again. Every goddamn night, Vega, and I’ll carry that to my grave.”</p><p>She straightened, trying to pull herself back together, trying to get her breathing back under control. She could feel the tendrils of biotic energy straining to be released, could feel the tingle in the back of her skull, of her amp begging for a discharge. She let her jaw and her fists unclench, took a backward step away from Vega.</p><p>“So don’t you <em> ever </em> talk to me about how hard it is to look at yourself in the mirror, James Vega, because when I look in a mirror? All I see are the people I couldn’t save.”</p><p>James, red-faced, stared down at his feet, shuffling his weight awkwardly. “I… I didn’t…” He took a deep breath, and then another. “I’m sorry, Lola. It just… when you left us, you left us all to sit around and pick up the pieces. And there’s a <em> lot </em> of pieces. The crash, the relays gone, the comm-buoys gone… We were stuck on wherever the hell we were stuck on for a year, Lola. We stripped the Normandy down to brass tacks, trying to build a comms array strong enough to get a signal outside our own atmosphere. Garrus and Tali near starved to death. And then Doc was pregnant, and we didn’t know how the hell an asari birth even worked… It felt like we’d won the war only to lose everything, right afterwards.”</p><p>The big marine scratched at the scruff of beard he’d clearly taken to wearing only recently, ran slablike fingers through a shaven head. “You were our leader, Lola. We <em> needed </em> you. None of us… none of us could fill those shoes. We all tried - Kaidan, me, the Doc, even Chakwas. We did the best we could, but…”</p><p>Shepard’s gaze softened. She reached out and put an arm on the hulking soldier. “You got them home safe, James,” she said quietly. “You did good. I trusted you with my crew’s life and my bondmate’s life, and you didn’t let me down.”</p><p>Vega struggled to speak for a long moment. He put a meaty hand on top of Shepards’ and squeezed gently. “Thanks, Lola. I uh… I didn’t realize how bad I needed to hear that.”</p><p>She forced a smile. “Anytime, soldier.” A thought crossed her mind, and the smile turned much more genuine. “I thought you and I might have to have another dance, before we could get to really talking.”</p><p>He rubbed his jaw ruefully, as if in memory. “One time’s enough for me. I’m getting too old for all that, and as I remember, you hit like a goddamn freight train.” His eyes looked her up and down with an insolent deliberation. “And you still look <em> damn </em> good. I told Blue she lucked out and you’d still be hot until you were seventy, or whatever.”</p><p>Shepard groaned. “Is that how old you think I am?”</p><p>“Shit, Lola,” James guffawed, “you look exactly the same as I remember. I think I might have more greys than you.”</p><p>“Not while you’re still giving me them,” Shepard grunted. “I’m assuming you being here means the Assembly isn’t going to have me strung up?”</p><p>“No,” James breathed. “No. You and your crew have been granted safe conduct, in and around Asa, for as long as you’re here. You uh, might find it a little different than what you’re used to, back on Earth…”</p><p>“I haven’t been back on Earth in nearly eighteen months, Vega.” She shrugged. “They don’t much want me, and I don’t much want them. I meant what I said when I said I wanted to retire. Soon as I can shake this bit of trouble, I’m out.”</p><p>“Careful, Lola,” James warned. “You know what happens to soldiers who talk about how close they are to retirement.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THE ATTICAN UNION ASSEMBLY<br/>General Kaidan Alenko<br/>Major James Vega<br/>Admiral Padma Qing<br/>Councillor Yahveh Tendai<br/>Councillor Prem Pia<br/>Minister Symon Yannick<br/>Councillor Danica Liesbeth<br/>Councillor Joakim Davis<br/>Doctor Detta Noemi</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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